Halloween Unspectacular 5: The Final Push
by E350
Summary: Thirty-one days, thirty-one shots, thirty-one bad ideas, this season of Halloween Unspectacular is going totally over the top! (Thanks Thorvald.) Prepare your groan reflex for the Grand Finale of FFN's least favourite Halloween tradition. Ratings, pairings and genres may vary wildly, read with discretion. Requests will be considered.
1. 01 10 14: The Last Hurrah

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's back to work I go...

* * *

**01/10/14: The Last Hurrah**

The world watched and waited in fear. Soldiers garrisoned major cities, fleets were deployed to the seas, politicians retreated to their bunkers. Conspiracy theorists raced to and fro, showing off their sandwich boards proclaiming that the world was about to end.

They awaited the arrival of Halloween Unspectacular 4.

Every time a Halloween Unspectacular arrived, chaos and trouble followed. Cities were destroyed, minds were lost, time was wasted.

Now, by executive order of the United Nations, the world was uniting to stop this chaos. This was Operation GOODFIC, an initiative to prevent Halloween Unspectacular from ruining the world with its hackneyed plots and its whim-based lunacy. It cost billions – it was the first time humanity had ever united against a common threat.

But there was one thing that the planners of GOODFIC did not anticipate. It would leave their plan in tatters and waste billions in tax-payer money.

For in the intervening year between the arrival of 3 and 4, E350 had bought a printer.

* * *

I was standing next to my printer, whistling to myself as I waited for the last page to print. Once it was out, I picked up the completed anthology and shoved it in a pile next to my bookshelf with all the other Halloween Unspectaculars.

I waltzed over to my computer, singing quietly to myself.

"_One fic more...another 'shot, another mystery...this never ending road to infamy..._"

I stood up, signing louder.

"_And yes I know that didn't rhyme, but sir I just don't have the time, one day more..."_

"_So wait, we're doing One Day More?_" sang Danny.

"_How will I live when this is ended?_" I sighed, pointing to the computer, "_One fic more..._"

"_I think there's someone at the door,_" said Danny.

"_We did much more than I expected,_" I lamented.

"_One more hour on the porch,_" sang Plankton, standing outside in the cold.

"_Will I ever surpass this?_" I asked.

"_When will he answer his doorbell?_" demanded Plankton.

"_I was born to write this schlock!_" I sang.

"_My antenna are freezing off,"_ grumbled Plankton.

"_I don't know a rhyme for schlock,_" I muttered.

"_Will somebody let me iiiiiinnnnnnn?!_" shouted Plankton.

"_One more fic before the end!_" proclaimed Sam, walking into the room.

"_Do I do a Fiddly Thing?_" I quizzed, scratching my chin.

"_When the arcs shall all be finished!_" added Sam.

"_Maybe robots will be cool?"_ I wondered.

"_He'll probably kill a lot of friends!_" warned Sam.

"_P'rap's a shot about a pool?_" I suggested.

"_But when it's done we shall be freeeeeee!_" thundered Sam.

"_The time has come, the end it nears!" _sang a chorus that had arrived outside my window.

"_One fic more!_" I shouted.

"_One fic more until it's ended,"_ said Tucker, walking in with his arms behind his back, "_We shall get through and survive, we'll be ready for his twists and we shall make it through alive."_

"_One fic more!_"

"_Watch him run amok,"_ sang Statler.

"_Mock him when he falls_," sang Waldorf.

"_That's the only reason we are here at all!_" both sang.

"_Here a little fail,_" sneered Waldorf.

"_There a little bomb,_" cackled Statler,

"_Do-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho ho-ho ho ho ho!_"

"_One fic to a new collection!"_ everyone sang.

"_Raise the flag of fanfic high!_" I called, jumping onto the table.

"_Every man will leave reviews!" _shouted Danny.

"_Every man will leave reviews!_" the crowd repeated.

"_There's some new hits for the winning!" _called Sam.

"_There's some new fics to be won!_" chanted the crowd, "_Do you hear the reviews sing?!_"

"_My place is here!_" sang Timmy, jumping onto the table, "_I write with you!_"

"_One fic more!_" I shouted.

"_Tomorrow it will all be done,_" sang Danny.

"_Tomorrow we shall end our run,_" sang Tucker.

"_Tomorrow we'll discover what our critics have in stooooooorre!"_ everyone shouted.

There was a short pause.

"_One more day!"_ I sang, "_One more fic!"_

_"__OOOOOONNNEE FIIIIIIIC MOOOOOOOOOORRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!"_

A cannon (or perhaps a car backfiring) fired outside.

"...well, I got carried away with that one," I admitted.

I sat down.

"So, as per the contest this year," I said, "This is the last one, so it has to be special. This time, I'm not asking you to write four oneshots – I'm asking you to write one four-shot with one, single theme – **Ending**. That's it, no length restrictions, no content restrictions, just that. Entries are due in by November 10, give and take my propensity for delays. Good luck!"

I reclined in my chair.

Then I blinked and looked around.

"All of you people get out of my house."

* * *

Yeah, I had to do something special for the last introduction.


	2. 02 10 14: The Muffin Man

Do you know the Muffin Man? I mean, do you really know him?

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** I'll fix that. :| Glad you liked it, though! Good luck with the challenge and thanks for reading!

**Agimat-AltoSax713:** I sure hope it will be, sir. :) Thanks for reviewing!

**Night-Waker:** Les Mis is best Mis. :D Good luck with the challenge and thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** ...sorry about that one. :\ Statler and Waldorf improve everything. Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Yep, that is most assuredly why Gaz is there. ;) Thanks!

* * *

**02/10/14: The Muffin Man**

_8.02am._

The Muffin Man sat in his van in the park, smiling serenely as he waited for his first customer. It was eight in the morning, and he was hoping to sell his wares to children going to school.

The Muffin Man was a serene and kindly individual. He never overcharged for his muffins. He never got angry or raised his voice. He always waved at passersby. He was always completely co-operative in the many police investigations of his van. He was simply a nice fellow.

He had not been waiting long when his first customer arrived. It was Danny and his friends, Sam and Tucker. They were taking a new route to school and therefore had never met the Muffin Man before, so they were naturally curious.

"Hi, err, what kind of muffins do you sell here?" he asked.

"Oh, I sell many muffins," replied the Muffin Man in his light, calming, Stephen Fry-like voice, "Apple, apricot, cinnamon, caramel, equine, choc-"

"Wait, what was that last one?!" asked Danny in alarm.

"Chocolate," replied the Muffin Man.

"Oh, good, I thought you said something else," replied Danny, relieved.

He chuckled nervously.

"Well, what's the harm?" he shrugged, "I'll take an apricot muffin. You guys want anything?"

"Make mine chocolate!" exclaimed Tucker.

"I'll have a soy muffin," shrugged Sam.

"Sam, you're a _terrible human being_," snorted Tucker, disgusted.

"Now, now," said the Muffin Man, kindly, "Let's not put down other people's opinions, even if they are demonstrably wrong."

Danny handed over the money and was handed his muffins, which he passed around. He then sniffed his own.

"Is it just me, or does this smell a bit like a horse?" he asked.

"It's just you," replied the Muffin Man, smiling.

* * *

_9.25am._

The Muffin Man was polishing his meat cleavers when his next customer arrived.

"Well hi there, Muffin Man!" exclaimed Hugh Neutron, striding up with a mortified Jimmy in tow, "Me and Jimbo were just having a father-son day when I saw you and thought 'you know what? I could do with a muffin!'"

It was a pupil-free day for the city's elementary schools. It was not such for the high schools, however, because life is unfair.

"Ah, Hugh, one of my favourite customers!" exclaimed the Muffin Man, "What can I do for you today?"

"_Weeeeell_, given I've tried everything else, why don't you suggest something?" suggested Hugh.

Jimmy tried to will himself into invisibility. It wasn't working.

"Hmm...I think I have just the thing," decided the Muffin Man.

He reached up into the racks above his window and produced a golden muffin.

"This muffin, Hugh," he explained, "Is a Holy Muffin. It will make all your dreams come true, within reason."

"So, the hot-dog dream will..."

"No, the hot-dog dream will not come true."

"I'll take it!" exclaimed Hugh.

He thrust a wad of cash into the Muffin Man's hand, grabbed the muffin and strolled away.

"A muffin that'll make all your dreams come true?" quizzed Jimmy.

"No, it doesn't really do that," replied the Muffin Man.

"Isn't that lying?"

"No, my boy, it's capitalism!"

* * *

_10.50am._

"Hey, Mr. Muffin Man? Do you sell hot dogs?"

"No."

"Okay bye."

* * *

_11.43am._

The Muffin Man looked up from sweeping the blood from his floor as Gaz stormed up to the window.

"The GameSturp says that if I get enough muffins I get a free GameSlave III," she snapped, "Hand 'em over."

The Muffin Man raised an eyebrow.

"Very well, madam," he replied, "I shall give you _exactly_ what you deserve."

He reached up towards his axe...then swung his hand away towards his 'special muffins' cupboard.

"Eat this," he said, showing Gaz a black muffin, "And you will get, as I said, exactly what you deserve."

"Do I deserve a GameSlave?" asked Gaz.

"Do you think you do?" asked the Muffin Man.

"Yeah."

"Then here you go," nodded the Muffin Man, handing her the muffin.

Gaz gazed at it for a few seconds before shoving it straight into her mouth, swallowing it in one go.

Suddenly, a black van swerved into the park, slamming into a tree. A half-dozen men in black suits leapt out of the pack, aiming pistols at Gaz.

"There she is!" thundered the lead MiB, "There is the Chaos Goddess!"

"What the heck are you...get off me!" demanded Gaz as she was grabbed by the MiBs and carried to the van.

"Take her back to the Vatican, men!" shouted the leader, "The Pope shall want to handle this one personally!"

The MiBs jumped back into the van and sped away.

Timmy, having seen the whole thing while waiting in line for a muffin, shook his head.

"I was not expecting that," he said.

"Nobody ever does."

* * *

_1.22pm._

"Oh dear, I've run out of syrup! ...ah well, this building tar will surely suffice."

* * *

_3.00pm._

The Muffin Man was sorting his collection of human heads when his next customer arrived.

"Sir, I would like to complain about the quality of your muffins," said the Comic Book Guy.

"What is your complain, kind sir?" asked the Muffin Man, closing his fridge and leaning out the window.

"This kryptonite muffin," snapped the Comic Book Guy, holding up a green muffin, "Purports to be made of one hundred percent powered kryptonite. However, I have examined it in lab conditions, and I have discovered that it is only _fifty-three_ percent kryptonite. The rest is clearly a combination of chocolate, green food dye and a light coating of Tiberium! Worst. Muffin. Ever."

"Well, surely that won't affect the quality of your muffin, sir?" said the Muffin Man.

"Good lord, man!" exclaimed the Comic Book Guy, "Tell me, what am I supposed to do if General Zod were to walk into my store! I would be _defenceless!_"

There was a brief pause.

"...have you ever considered the possibility that General Zod might _not_ walk into your store, sir?"

* * *

_4.56pm._

The Muffin Man was packing up after a successful day's work. He was putting his remaining muffins into small cardboard boxes, wiping down the counter and falsifying his tax records. He was just preparing to shutter his window when a large pink projectile slammed into the side of his van.

The Muffin Man smiled to himself. Muffins plus pink creature, after all, could only mean one person.

Which was Patrick, of course. Who did you think I was talking about?

"Muffamuffamuffamuffamuffamuffamuffa..." he chanted, mouth watering. Spongebob and Sandy walked up behind him, the latter looking slightly embarrassed.

"Ah, hello Patrick!" exclaimed the Muffin Man, "I was just closing up, but I've saved a muffin especially for you."

He handed Patrick a small red muffin.

"Wait, aren't you the feller who makes all them weird muffins?" quizzed Sandy.

"The one that they arrested a few times?" added Spongebob.

"Oh, dear boy," chuckled the Muffin Man, "They never proved anything."

He glanced at his watch.

"Now, I must be going," he said cheerfully, "Diane and I are having a night in! Care to join us?"

"I'll...give that a miss," replied Spongebob.

"Ah well," shrugged the Muffin Man, "Enjoy the muffin, Patrick! You might say I poured a bit of myself into it!"

He shuttered the window, climbed into the driver's seat and drove away.

"Ah, Sandy?" quizzed Spongebob, "Have you noticed that muffin is-"

"_No._"

* * *

AN: I don't think I like the Muffin Man anymore!


	3. 03 10 14: The Other Side of the Mirror

Why are mirror universes always bad?

Review replies;

**Night-Waker:** I'm glad someone picked up on that. After all, 'she's married to the Muffin Man.' :D Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** I did indeed, and it is. Among other things, of course - it's also partly based on 'The Hot Dog Man' by Tripod. Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Heh, yeah, I thought you'd like that. :D I'd say that being arrested by the Vatican is pretty low on the 'Gaz Misfortune Expectations List.' Thanks for the review!

**Autobot-Outcast:** Ah, yeah, and don't get me started on that Pie Woman. I still have nightmares about pastry. Thanks very much!

**Cartoonatic55:** Yes, yes I did. :) Thanks!

* * *

**03/10/14: The Other Side of the Mirror**

The two grey-coated soldiers dragged the prisoner down the corridors of the palace, past the ranks of troopers in pale green dress uniforms and shakos. Nobody reacted to the prisoner's condition – beaten, bruised and dressed in rags. These men and women were faithful servants of empire – they were not under orders to care.

The soldiers in battledress reached the end of the corridor and roughly pushed the prisoner to the ground. An officer in a resplendent gold-braided uniform strode over, hands behind his back.

"Prisoner, you will stand and walk into the Sentencing Chamber," the officer ordered.

"Make me," sneered the prisoner.

"If you fail to comply, you will be shot," said the officer, his tone cold and detached.

The two soldiers pointed their rifles at the prisoner.

"I don't care," snapped the prisoner.

"You do, prisoner," replied the officer, "If you didn't care whether you lived or died, you would be dead already. Get up."

The prisoner glared, but slowly came to her feet.

"Get on with it, automaton," she snarled.

"Corporal," the officer barked to one of the soldiers, "You will march her to the centre of the chamber and remain while judgement is passed. If she runs, shoot to kill."

"Yes sir!" shouted the corporal, saluting.

The officer nodded, and turned to a trooper next to the door.

"Begin the procession, private."

"Yes sir."

The private opened the door.

The Sentencing Chamber was massive. There was a long passageway leading to a small, circular yard in the centre. Above this yard was an elevated collection of thrones, all turned away from the yard. Around all of this was a massive audience, seated in ascending chairs almost up to the marble roof. At the top of the roof was a small opening through which the moon could be seen.

The crowd jeered as the prisoner began to walk towards the yard. She paid them no heed as they began to pelt rotten fruit, stones and other projectiles in her direction (the soldiers and officer staying far enough back as to not get hit.) Her drab khaki prison jumpsuit was stained by the projectiles, but her head remained high.

As she marched forth, the shouts began.

"Kill the rebel!"

"Off with her head!"

"'Ang 'er 'igh! Jus' like 'er bastard brother!"

"You like this, witch? This is what you deserve!"

Eventually, the procession reached the yard and came to a halt. There was a loud bugle call, and the crowd was silenced.

"Prisoner 24601, you are charged with high treason and sedition against the name of empire," barked the officer, "You will now be judged."

There was a drum roll, and the crowd cheered as the thrones turned.

"May all give their praise!" shouted the officer, "I present His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Aang of the Empire of the Sky!"

The bald young man in the biggest chair nodded as the crowd applauded him wildly. He raised an arm – the chamber was silenced.

"Thank you, Major," he boomed, "Prisoner, you stand accused of a litany of crimes against empire. How do you plead?"

The prisoner snarled.

"Guilty as charged!" she spat, "Death to the Empire!"

The crowd burst into uproar, and a fresh volley of projectiles were flung from the stands. A stone struck her straight in the cheek, cutting it, but she didn't even react.

Aang raised his arm again. The crowd was silence.

"I shall ask my marshals to pass judgement," he said coldly, "Marshals?"

A collection of individuals in fine uniforms rose from their thrones.

"Guilty," snarled Marshal Daniel Fenton of Amity.

"Guilty," snapped Marshal Timothy Turner of Dimmsdale.

"Guilty," growled Marshal Patrick Star of Bikini Bottom.

"I...guilty," muttered Marshal Bradley Carbunkle of Tremorton.

"Guilty as sin," snarled Marshal Arnold Shortman of Hillwood.

"Guilty, and may you hang," spat Marshal Thomas Pickles of Klasky.

"Chancellor?" quizzed Aang.

"Your Majesty," shrugged Chancellor James Isaac Neutron, "It's clear she's already decided her verdict for us. I see no reason to drag this out."

There were a few cheers from the crowd.

"Very well," nodded Aang, "We find you guilty of high treason and sedition. I will now pass my sentence."

There was another wild cheer. Aang let it go on for a few moments before silencing it.

"Prisoner 24601, you will be taken from this place and shipped to the highest-security prison in the empire, the Great Gaol," he growled, "There you will toil for the rest of your days in the mines, and will be subject to the whims of your betters without consideration of your civilian rights, which are henceforth revoked."

"Are you too afraid to have me killed, Aang?" snarled the prisoner.

Aang's expression darkened.

"Prisoner, your name is officially stricken from all record," he said, crossing his arms, "What you were before is no longer relevant. You are now merely 24601."

"My name is _Azula_, you coward!" thundered the prisoner, "And nothing you say or do will ever change that! _Death to the Empire! Freedom for the-_"

One of the soldiers slammed the butt of his rifle into the back of her head, knocking her to the ground. The crowd jeered loudly.

"I have nothing more to say to you, 24601," sneered Aang, "Take this thing from my sight, Major."

The Major snapped to attention, saluted, and began to march out of the chamber. The soldiers grabbed Azula and dragged her after him – the prisoner was still shouting.

"_You'll never get us all, Aang!_" she thundered, "_We will tear apart your empire, piece by piece! You will _never_ win! _Never!"

She was dragged out the door. It was slammed shut behind her.

"After six months in the Great Gaol," sneered Arnold, sitting back in his chair, "She won't even remember what her name is."

The crowd cheered wildly in response.

* * *

Across the dimensional barrier, Jimmy Neutron stood next to his interdimensional portal. He had recently upgraded it, and it was now glowing red instead of green. Spongebob, Danny, Timmy, AJ and Sandy were looking at it in interest.

"Gotta admit, I'm pretty impressed," Sandy nodded, crossing her arms.

"Of course you are," nodded Jimmy aloofly, "I'm a genius. So, which of you guys wanna test this little doohickie?"

"Why don't you test it?" replied Timmy.

"He built it, Timmy," replied AJ, knowingly, "It means he doesn't have to test it!"

"Eh, got nothing better to do, I guess," shrugged Danny, "You guys up for it?"

"As long as I can be back in time to feed Gary, sure!" nodded Spongebob.

"Don't worry Spongebob," grinned Jimmy, "Nothing can go wrong!"

* * *

AN: Famous last words.


	4. 04 10 14: The Piccadilly Caper

Here's the first multi-parter - a good old fashioned whodunnit! :D

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** A one-off for now, but I may take it somewhere...thanks for reading!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Blimey, I'd hate to see mirror!40k then. Well, we'll see - I'll have a think. Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** No, sorry, this one isn't a multi-parter. Still, maybe one day. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**04/10/14: The Piccadilly Caper**

_Not very long ago in a city not that far away..._

_*Insert Star Wars Theme Here*_

_HALLOWEEN WARS_

_EPISODE V: THE PICCADILLY CAPER_

_It has been one year since the Battle of El Dorado._

_The mythical nation of Avalon has descended into civil war. SIR GALAHAD and SIR GAWAIN have both lost faith in QUEEN GUINEVERE and are now fighting each other for possession of the crown. Camelot has fallen, and Guinevere has fled to a small island fort in the Atlantic Ocean with the remains of her forces, including the last loyal knight, LANCELOT._

_Guinevere has tasked the magician MADAME ATHENA with preparing for an inevitable final battle with Galahad and Gawain. Athena trains her young apprentice JAZZ FENTON in the ways of sorcery, but her training regime is interrupted when DR INSANO is arrested in Central London..._

* * *

"Alright, let 'em in."

Jazz and Madame Athena walked into the holding cell in the police station. They were in the heart of London, and had been called over by the London City Police – a newly-apprehended prisoner had asked for them.

"I know this looks incriminating," said Dr. Insano, looking up at his visitors, "But I can explain."

"Fiddley Thing?" grunted Athena, crossing her arms.

"Uh, no, I left that with Sandy," replied Insano, "And by that I mean she still won't give it back."

"No, this is quite a bit more serious, ma'am."

A balding palace officer with a bushy moustache walked into the room, hands behind his back. He spoke in a slight Yorkshire accent, and his features were plump and piggish.

"Detective Chief Inspector Aldrich, ma'am," he introduced himself, "Yer friend Doctor Insano is in for suspected murder in the first degree."

Jazz gasped, and even Athena looked a bit shocked.

"I resent that," snapped Insano, "I most assuredly did not kill anyone! I would know if I had!"

Athena and DCI Aldrich shared a glance.

"The court's refused him bail, ma'am," continued DCI Aldrich, "But some of my lads are suspecting foul play here. I think they're a bunch o' twits but I'll humour them. If you can prove Insano is innocent with 60 hours, I'll let him off, no questions asked."

"Isn't that a major breach of police protocol?" asked Jazz.

"Do you want to complain about protocol or do you want to help yer friend?" asked DCI Aldrich.

"Well he's not really a _friend_," shrugged Jazz, "But okay! Where do we start?"

"I'd start at the scene of the crime," shrugged DCI Aldrich, "The Crystal Palace Theatre, it's in the west end. Get off the Tube at Leicester Square and head north a little, you can't miss it..."

* * *

_The Crystal Palace, West End, 10am. 58h left._

The Crystal Palace was cordoned off. Policeman patrolled the perimeter, keeping the general public away from the building.

Inside, Jazz and Athena were standing on the stage of the main theatre. The crime scene was not at all what they had expected.

"He's...uh...he's been turned into a mannequin," said Jazz, flatly.

A tall, youngish policeman with black sideburns walked over.

"That's the vic, Edward Dooge," he explained, "He's a rich businessman from the West Country. He owned the building. We think he was coated with fibreglass, which would make this death by suffocation, but we can't tell until we can get it to the coroner."

"Wow, this is really dark for a humour episode," mused Jazz.

"I beg your pardon?"

"...of our lives."

"Ah."

The policeman offered his hand.

"Inspector Jenson, ma'am," he introduced, "I've been combing out the area. I heard HQ let you have a crack at this case?"

Jazz nodded. Behind her, Athena leant over Dooge's corpse.

"Do you have anything, Inspector?" asked Jazz.

"I have a list of the last few people to visit this building," replied Inspector Jensen, "Plus CCTV footage of their interactions. I have transcripts here."

"This man isn't dead."

All eyes fell on Athena, whose hand was touching Dooge's chest.

"He's been magically transmuted into a mannequin," explained Athena, "His mind is in a state of stasis. There are also clear signs of tampering in his suit coat. This isn't a murder, it's a burglary."

"So the culprit must have access to magic or supernatural artefacts," nodded Inspector Jenson.

"Wait, you're just accepting this?" quizzed Jazz.

"Ma'am, this is London."

"Okay, so who are the suspects?" asked Jazz.

Inspector Jenson handed her the CCTV transcript.

"We've narrowed it down to four," he replied, "First, at eight twenty-three last night..."

* * *

_EXHIBIT A – CCTV TRANSCRIPT_

_At 8.23pm, the vic is seen on the stage of the Crystal Palace, talking to a magician in fairly generic attire (top hat – tails – trimmed moustache). A poofing sound is vaguely audible outside and Timmy Turner strides in a minute later. Cosmo, Wanda and Poof can clearly be seen disguised as backpack and accessories._

_Timmy reaches the magician and has a brief but heated discussion. The word 'fake' can be made out. Mr. Dooge walks up and attempts to stand up for the magician. Eventually Timmy gets annoyed, points at Dooge, shouts something indecipherable and walks away._

_Later, at 9.01pm, Dr. Insano enters. He talks briefly to Mr. Dooge – he brings out a dongly thing and appears to be trying to sell him something. Mr. Dooge rejects Insano and he storms out._

_At 9.32pm, an elderly man in a red fez and suit walks in. He converses briefly with the magician, before talking to Mr. Dooge. The conversation turns ugly and the old man shouts at Mr. Dooge before storming out. Inspector Jenson tells us that this man has been identified as Stanford Pines._

_At 9.49pm, as the magician prepares to leave, a suited man – Ovard Grim – walks into the room. He holds a brief conversation with Mr. Dooge, and a complaint of 'too honest' is heard. Grim eventually leaves with the magician, although the latter seems to distrust him._

_At 10.01pm, Mr. Dooge is preparing to leave. Suddenly, the camera turns to static – when it returns to normal, Mr. Dooge has met his fate._

* * *

"...wait, Timmy's a suspect?!" exclaimed Jazz, "Is he even _in_ London?"

"He's at the Travelodge at Euston," replied Inspector Jensen, "Stanford Pines is staying in a cheap lodge near Portobello Road, trying to hawk his wares to unsuspecting tourists. We don't know if Grim is in London, but I'll get on that at the computers back at the station."

"Great, we'll keep in touch," nodded Jazz, "Now, let's..."

"_Let me through, I implore you!_"

The magician raced through the theatre, pushing several policemen aside. He reached Dooge and fell to his knees.

"Edward! How could they do this! How cruel!" he exclaimed, "_Whhhyyyyyy!_"

He screamed at the ceiling.

"Um...he's not dead," Jazz pointed out.

"...oh."

He got to his feet and dusted himself off.

"Well, who's in charge of finding the blighter who did this?" he asked.

"Well, I _was_, but I think my case has been hijacked," replied Inspector Jenson.

"We are, sir," replied Jazz, "Jazz Fenton and Madame Athena, at your service!"

"I," replied the magician, bowing and tipping his hat, "Am the _Magnificent Gus!_"

"...Gus."

"All the other names were taken," replied Gus, "Curse those Malakarths. Well, Ms. Fenton, Madame, I must implore you – find that bounder and bring him to justice! How dare he lay a hand on my dear benefactor!"

He made a show of wiping a tear from his eye.

"Oh, and feel free to come to the show tomorrow!" he added, "Only thirty pounds a head! Now, Inspector, I need to discuss when I get back to using this stage..."

He led Inspector Jenson away.

"Alright, now that we've been dragged into sleuthing," grumbled Athena, "Where to first."

"Euston," replied Jazz, "I need to work out the level of Timmy's involvement..."

* * *

AN: So, the question is..._whodunnit?_ I love that word.


	5. 05 10 14: Missing Midnight

Behold, the fearful nightmares of _daaaaylight saaaaaavings tiiiiime! Wooooooooo!_

Yeah, that was terrible. Review replies;

**Night-Waker:** And you know what, I'd love to expand it. ;) Maybe after October's done. And how can you suspect Gus? He's Gustastic! Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** He's Timmy. If he didn't get into trouble, there'd be no show. :D Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Aaaaaand there goes a missed opportunity. :\ Ah well, never mind. Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Hmm...not a bad guess, not a bad guess. Thanks very much!

**Cartoonatic55:** Given the interest it's achieved, it may end up being a full story. :D Thanks!

**AutobotOutcast:** I never do anything by halves. My plots are either lunacy or insanity. Thank you!

* * *

**05/10/14: Missing Midnight**

"Y'know, Jim, I've been thinking," said Timmy, "What happens to the hour we lose on the first night of Daylight Savings?"

It was the night before Daylight Savings. Jimmy and Timmy were at a Daylight Savings party at Timmy's house, organised by Timmy's dad to upstage the Dinkleburg's own party next door. The two friends were sitting inside around the kitchen table, trying to kill time until they were allowed to go home (or to bed, in Timmy's case.)

"Nothing," replied Jimmy, shrugging, "Daylight Savings is just a way of making sure the sun keeps rising and setting at the right time and keeping up with the longer days of the summer."

"Well, that sounds boring," muttered Timmy, "Is it past midnight yet."

"That's not what _I_ heard."

Danny walked into the room, sliding into a seat next to Timmy.

"I've heard tell about the missing hour," he said mysteriously, "Stories from the darkest depths of the Ghost Zone."

"Ooh! Scary story! Want!" exclaimed Timmy.

"Oh brother," grumbled Jimmy, "Let me guess, this is gonna be some unscientific alarmist..."

"I've heard stories," continued Danny, "Of a ghostly bell that stalks the earth at the start of every daylight savings. At the stroke of midnight, it will chime twelve times. If you don't hear it, you're fine – it'll be 1am and you'll have missed an hour. But if you hear it, you will be trapped in the missing hour – _forever_."

"...how can you be trapped in an hour forever?" demanded Jimmy, "It's an hour! It is by definition a set period of time."

"Dude," reminded Danny, "Ghosts."

"Okay," nodded Timmy, "That was slightly scarier than the Pre-School Hour on TV, so you did okay with that one?"

"What?" quizzed Danny, "But it's true! 90% of the time, Ghost Zone rumours end up being true. The other 10% is people messing me, but I'm pretty confident it's the former..."

"Alright ladies and gentlemen!" Mr. Turner exclaimed, "We've got ten minutes to midnight – so let's have an eighties dance contest! Everybody, break it!"

The stereo crackled to life and _Come and Get Your Love_ started playing. Mr and Mrs. Turner danced into view of the kitchen, dancing poorly to the song. Both were dressed in sparkling '80s jumpsuits, and Mr. Turner was wearing an afro wig.

"...right, I'm mortified," said Timmy, flatly, "I'll be out back."

He got up and walked away without further comment.

"I am so glad my parents aren't here right now," grinned Danny, offering a fist.

"Oh yeah," nodded Jimmy, knocking his fist against Danny's.

* * *

The night was cool but not cold. Timmy sat against the tree, looking up the light pollution that passed for the night's sky in Dimmsdale. It was about three minutes to midnight, and the sound of eighties hits inside didn't seem to be dying down any time soon.

"Can I sit here?"

Timmy looked up. Dani was standing next to him.

"Yeah, sure," shrugged Timmy, "What's going on?"

"The music in there's driving me nuts," replied Dani, "There's only so many ABBA songs that a girl can stand."

"Yeah, my dad's kind of embarrassing."

He looked around.

"Who else is out here anyway?" he asked out loud.

"Spongebob's trying to get Squidward to come back inside," replied Dani, waving an arm across the backyard, "Dib's got a new friend..."

Dib looked up from the random tome of ancient knowledge to high-five Dipper.

"...Sandy's waiting out here until midnight so she can go home – can't blame her," shrugged Dani, "And your treehouse has been occupied by the mortified teenager brigade."

"Hey Timmy!" Tucker called, "Have they stopped dancing yet?"

"Nope!" Timmy called back.

"Okay," shrugged Timmy, "So at least I'm not the only one who ditched the party. Good to hear."

He looked at his watch.

"Okay, clock's go _forward_, right?" he asked, "Because I can never remember."

"Forward," replied Dani, drawing her own watch, "Okay, on three! One...two...thr-"

_BOOOONG! BOOOONG! BOOOONG!_

Timmy and Dani nearly jumped out of their skins as a loud bell chime sounded over them.

_BOOOONG! BOOOONG! BOOOONG!_

The light in the house windows died down, soon followed by the streetlights on the road. Dib looked up from his book, now unable to read in the darkness.

_BOOOONG! BOOOONG! BOOOONG!_

Timmy looked at his watch. It had frozen at twelve.

_BOOOONG! BOOOONG! BOOOONG!_

The chimes finished, and there was silence.

"...okay, we still put this forward, right?" asked Timmy, nervously, "Or did something terrible just happen?"

He stood up, looking around in the darkness. The backyard was deathly quiet – the 80's mix had been silenced. Timmy could not even hear the sounds of crickets in the grass.

"Uh, does that book say anything about this happening?" asked Dipper, turning to Dib.

"No!" exclaimed Dib, "All it says is stuff about identifying different types of zombies! What's going on?"

"Danny's story was true," Timmy realised, "We just heard the ghost chime. We're trapped in the missing hour!"

"Missing hour?"

Sandy, Spongebob and Squidward walked up to them, the former with her arms crossed.

"Did you cause this, Turner?" she demanded.

"Nope, I'm actually innocent this time," shrugged Timmy.

"_I am he who brought you here._"

A bolt of lightning stuck Squidward out of the cloudless night sky, encasing him in an aura of electricity and turning his eyes red. When it was done, he levitated upwards, towering over the group in the yard.

"_Welcome to my domain,_" he snarled, "_Welcome to the Missing Hour_."

He raised an arm, dragging the tree house from its perch and slamming it to the ground where it broke open. Tucker, Wendy and Valerie crawled to their feet, the latter muttering to herself.

"I come outside for _five minutes_..."

"_Now you are here,_" growled the entity possessing Squidward, "_You have but one chance to escape. You must journey to the Dimmsdale Dimmadome before the hour is out, and provide offering to the spirits – then you may leave._"

"A-and if we don't?" stammered Spongebob.

"_If you don't,_" replied the entity, "_You will remain in this dimension..._forever_. Like those who came before you..._"

He raised an arm. Watches appeared on the group's wrists, all reading 12:00:00.

"_Now,_" snarled the entity, "_The clock is ticking._"

There was another lightning strike, and Squidward fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Well," shrugged Wendy, "That was pretty weird."

"You have no idea," muttered Tucker.

"He wants us to get to the Dimmadome in an hour?!" exclaimed Timmy, "That's twenty minutes by bus from here!"

"It's not as bad as you think, Timmy."

Dib stepped forward, pointing to the watch.

"According to this timer," he said, lifting up a stopwatch, "It takes one minute for every second to pass in this dimension. Who here has a calculator."

Tucker pulled out his PDA.

"Let me see...that means there's sixty minutes in a minute, which means each minute is an hour...sixty hours," he said, "We've got just under three days."

"Great!" grinned Timmy, "Then we've got plenty of time! Come on!"

He walked out past his house and onto the street. His face fell.

The street was now absurdly long, stretching into an abyss of infinite darkness. Timmy turned around, only to find the other way looked exactly the same.

"Ah, crud," he muttered.

"Well," shrugged Dipper, as he and the rest of the group walked out into the street, "Looks like this is gonna be harder than we thought..."

"Story of my life, kid," grumbled Valerie.

"You know what I wanna know?" mused Sandy, "What happens to the fellers that don't get out..."

* * *

An entity of black mist appeared in a darkened lair, not unlike a decorated attic. It wafted over to a cabinet, looking at a half-finished chess set on the bottom shelf. It was missing ten pieces – two pawns and all of the special pieces on the red side.

"Tonight," he sneered, "When they fail, I'm finally going to finish this little set. Isn't that right, my queen?"

He levitated the white queen and spun it round, admiring it's remarkably humanoid shape.

* * *

AN: Dude, couldn't you just, like, _buy_ a chess set?


	6. 06 10 14: Wild Mass Guessing

Here is my rather unkind but fun-to-write impression of the Wild Mass Guessing section at TV Tropes.

Review replies;

**Night-Waker: **Binge-watching might be a better word. :P Glad you liked it! Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** Well, Timmy has a track record. And yes, that is Dipper from Gravity Falls. Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** _Because I am the true monster of Halloween Unspectacular._ And because I like leaving plot bunnies open, in case I ever come back to them. I should probably stop, but it's fun and I'm obsessive. Anyway, thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Y'know, I never thought of that until now, but yeah, Tucker kinda lucked out there. XD Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Might put it on the backburner then. And it's Squidward, his suffering is our entertainment, poor guy. :D Thanks!

* * *

**06/10/14: Wild Mass Guessing**

"Okay, when you said to come urgently, this was not what I was expecting," said Timmy.

He had just entered my house to find all the furniture removed, replaced with scraps of paper on the walls. I was in the corner, rocking back and forth in the fetal position and looking very dishevelled.

"Timmy," I whispered, "I have uncovered the grand conspiracy..."

"Is this gonna be like the time you told me that the Chilean Government was conspiring with the guys from _Top Gear_ to mark up lemonade prices?" demanded Timmy, "Because that one was demonstrably false."

"This is much bigger than that," I shouted, jumping to my feet and shaking Timmy's shoulders, "Using a combination of old Dan Brown books, the WMG section on TV Tropes, talking to Dib and bathroom gossip, I have unveiled a conspiracy to unravel the Cartoon Universe at it's very seams!"

Timmy blinked. Then he sat down, pulling popcorn out of nowhere.

"This 'gun be good," he said to himself.

"Listen carefully, Timmy Turner," I said mysteriously, "Because what I am about to tell you will _blow your mind_."

I pulled out my iPod and started playing the _Inception_ trailer music.

* * *

_This goes pretty deep, so listen carefully. First off, Danny Fenton's accident, the creation of Danny Phantom – _that was not an accident._ Jack and Maddie Fenton deliberately engineered the portal's conditions to allow one of their children to contract ghost powers – why else would they have the on button on the inside, right? Now why do this? Simple. The Fentons are secretly agents of the Guys in White, who want to develop a super-soldier which will be used as their vanguard against all ghost-kind. This is part of Operation CANDLEJACK, a plan to annihilate all supernatural beings._

"With you so far," nodded Timmy.

_CANDLEJACK is being run in secret by the US Government, who are also in charge of making sure that the truth – _the masquerade, _if you will – doesn't become public. That's why people outside Amity Park don't know about ghosts and stuff. CANDLEJACK's head is Lex Luthor, who was hired by the President due to his experience against Superman. Luthor is using CANDLEJACK and the GiW to gather supernatural objects and weapons, which he intends to use to destroy Superman. Trouble is, Luthor's being betrayed by his right hand man, Vlad Masters, who has joined a cabal of paranormal experts._

"Okay, starting to get a bit weird."

_This secret society was created by Aldrich Bitterroot in 1699 and since then has risen to covertly run most aspects of society. It operates in shadow, covered by its public fronts – Wal-Mart, J. P. Morgan, Google, Dave's Bait and Tackle, all the big companies. Their plan is to bring chaos and disorder to society and tear it down in an apocalyptic firestorm, so that they and their zombie-vampire..."_

"So, vampires and zombies?"

_No, _zombie-vampires_. They're hybrids._

"But...that means they're undead _twice_."

_...so that they and their zombie-vampire minions can remake the world in their image, which I believe is the shape of a pear. Only one person knew of this fiendish plan, so they framed him and ruined his reputation. And that man...dramatic pause...was _Richard Milhous Nixon._ Yes, _that_ Nixon._

"...Nixon."

_Nixon realised that the cabal had to be stopped, so he replaced himself with a robotic double and fled to the woodlands of the Pacific Northwest. He spent the next several years putting together three separate journals about the oddities of the area around Gravity Falls..._

"Oh, you have got to be _kidding _me."

_...before he removed his own head and went into cryogenic storage, to be awoken, half-insane, around the year 3000. Before he did this, he sent one last message to his friend Denzel Crocker Sr., telling him to start a group that would stop the secret cabal in their tracks. And so the elder Crocker left his wife and son to wonder the deserts for twenty years._

"Okay, that's a bit farfetched, but..."

_And the deserts were on Mars._

"..."

_When he returned to civilisation – and Earth, I guess – the internet age had arisen, and Crocker the Elder realised he could use this to his advantage to fight the evil cabal. He decided to rally followers on the world wide web. He created a group ruthless, insane and disrespectful of authority enough to bring down the cabal. He created 4chan._

"Oh no."

_But Crocker I didn't stop there! No, sir! He realised that he would need a band of warriors to take down the cabal. He returned to Dimmsdale and his eyes fell upon a boy who would do what he needed._

"Please don't bring me into this."

_Yes, Timmy Turner was first warrior he chose, but he had to be built into a fighter. So the senior Crocker contacted his son, asking him to play the part of an insane megalomaniacal teacher to toughen up the boy. That wasn't enough, so he convinced Timmy's parents to leave him with a babysitter of Crocker Elder's choosing. And then he went to the Secret Redhead Production Facility._

"Okay, dude, _think_ before you say things, this is kind of..."

_The SRPF was established by 4chan and their allies on the interwebs for reasons I could not discern. Crocker the First ordered one teenage clone from the Foster brood..._

"Vicky is not a clone of Frankie Foster."

_Oh, of course not, they're both clones, engineered by Madame Foster for a laugh. Foster was one Crocker I's allies, y'see. But anyway, Crocker Senior had Vicky produced and ordered her to play the part of evil babysitter until he was old and tough enough to take up the mantle of warrior against the cabal, at which point she would join her sisters in the Red 501__st__ Battalion, which sounds like a communist front but is actually an army of cartoon redheads clones commanded by Brad._

"Brad Carbunkle? As a military commander? _Really?_"

_But CANDLEJACK was one step ahead, and they had Crocker Senior assassinated by FBI ninjas. Incidentally there's a conspiracy about them, too, turns out J Edgar Hoover was secretly a karate master, but this isn't the time. With the elder Crocker dead, the younger Crocker became leader of the resistance. He contacted Jimmy Neutron and asked him to engineer a situation that would bring warriors against the cabal together. Jimmy leaked components of his multiversal portal to Professor Calamitous and brought Timmy, Spongebob and Danny to fight the 'Evil Syndicate'. Naturally, his new allies were unaware that this whole thing was done under controlled test conditions by Jimmy and Crocker. Volcano Island and the Toy Factory were coincidences, but served to strengthen the bond between them._

"Dude, really? But if it was controlled, why did invite Vlad, aka, _one of the shadowy cabal, _along?"

_It wasn't that well thought out. Anyway, then 4chan became unreliable, so Jimmy created a new group – the Swollen Eyeball Network – with the specific aim of making contact with Dib and bringing him in. He was unaware, however, that the cabal had made a deal with the Irkens to bring Zim to Earth, distracting the young paranormal investigator's attention long enough to put the last phase of their plan into action. Which brings us to now._

"Okay, here it comes..."

_The cabal now plans to deliberately mark up peanut prices, thereby creating a shortage of peanuts in Lower Peanut Developed Economies. This will lead to what I call the 'Peanut Wars'. As America fights for its life against peanut starved enemies, the cabal will backstab CANDLEJACK and put the last phase of their plan into action, launching nuclear weapons at Canada, the friendliest, most inoffensive country in the world. This will cause the whole planet to lob nukes at each other in a maddened frenzy until all that remains are cockroaches, mutants, the cabal and a very confused Switzerland. The only way this can be prevented is if the resistance rises now. Timmy Turner must take up his destiny, raise his sword – you do have a sword, right?_

"No."

_Then get a sword. Anyway, he must raise his sword and lead his friends, some strangers and the 501__st__ Red into battle, bringing down the cabal and CANDLEJACK in an epic of betrayal, action, romance and sheer insanity that will last 180 minutes, including pre-show advertisements. When the cabal is defeated, CANDLEJACK will collapse on its own, the GiW will be dissolved and the world will move into a new, bold era lit by the most glorious peanuts ever produced – I call it the Peanut Age, and it will be beautiful to behold!_

* * *

"...that's what's truly going on," I finished dramatically, "This is the great secret of animated fiction!"

There was a long silence.

"Okay," said Timmy, "That was basically the single most stupid thing I have heard in my entire life."

"Stupid?" I demanded, "How is it stupid?"

"Well, it started off poor, dipped in quality in the middle and crashed into a manure truck at the end," replied Timmy.

"So...you don't believe it?" I asked.

"Nope."

"And it wouldn't make a good crack-fic?" I quizzed.

"Not in the slightest."

I sighed.

"Oh man," I groaned, "That's my plan for today's HU completely out the window."

"Hey," reassured Timmy, patting me on the shoulder, "At least you can use whatever the heck that thing was as a comedy 'shot."

"Yeah, I guess so," I sighed, "You up for comfort ice-cream?"

"Any time, man," replied Timmy, "Any time."

We walked into the kitchen, headed for the Neapolitan ice-cream.

"Wait, hang on, Patrick might get upset if we take the neo," I mused.

"Yeah, probably," shrugged Timmy, "He really likes that stuff."

* * *

Across the road, a man in black sitting in a black sedan put down his binoculars and picked up the car radio.

"This is Agent Ninjaman," he reported, "_He knows._"

There was a crack of thunder.

Which was odd, as the sky was clear.

* * *

AN: I think the reference I'm most happy with is the Patopolitan one.


	7. 07 10 14: Sad Tale of Jeremiah Fenton

EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED. EVEN THE STUFF THAT'S NOT CONNECTED. ALSO, THE GOLD STANDARD MAKES ECONOMIC SENSE, TESLA SECRETLY BUILT A DEATH RAY AND THE MOULD ON MY BROTHER'S SOCKS IS SENTIENT. WAKE UP SHEEPLE!

Yeah, I'm still in the same mood I was in yesterday.

Review replies;

**Night-Waker:** Of course! Frame someone else and shift the blame by claiming dark magic! It's the _perfect crime!_ Thanks for reading.

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Question mode is fun mode. I'm tempted to make a fake trailer for this as a comic, actually... Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** That's okay, I don't either - and I wrote it. Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Well of course he is. He's Bill, it's what he does. Thanks very much!

**Agimat-AltoSax713:** They'll never take me alive! _*runs for the hills*_ Thanks!

* * *

**07/10/14: The Sad Tale of Jeremiah Fenton**

The rain pelted down on FentonWorks. Danny was staring outside, head rested against his wrist, signing occasionally as he sat in front of a laptop in the Ops Centre.

It hadn't been a good week for him. He had three assignments due on Friday, Dash seemed to be even more out for him than usual, and Sam and Tucker had both been sick for days and therefore unable to meet up. Jazz was still in Britain (and had sent him a rather baffling text about some kind of murder mystery) and Valerie...well, that could be a potential minefield, given what he was and what she was.

So he sat in the Ops Centre with nothing to do but struggle valiantly with a two thousand world essay on the literary benefits of _War and Peace_, which he had not read because he wasn't insane.

"Danny-boy, what're you doing?!"

Jack marched into the room, carrying a large scrapbook under one arm and a tablet under the other. He sat himself on the other side of the table, slamming the scrapbook onto the wooden surface and causing Danny's laptop to jump into the air for a short moment.

"Homework," grumbled Danny, "I swear Lancer's trying to kill us. With words."

"Uh-huh," nodded Jack, "I'm doing genealogy!"

"Genealogy," repeated Danny, "Since when do you care about genealogy?"

"Danny," replied Jack, "To hunt ghosts, you must know the past! And to know the past, you must know yourself!"

"Did you read that on a fortune cookie?"

"Yes I did."

Danny sighed, getting up from his side of the table.

"Can I help?" he asked, "I mean, it doesn't sound that interesting but it's better than watching paint dry over here."

"Sure!" replied Jack, patting the seat next to him, "Come on over!"

As Danny walked over, Jack opened the first page of the scrapbook.

"This is my father's," explained Jack, "He left home when I was about six, but before that he used this to gather all his documents. My mom used to say he hid evidence of tax fraud in here."

"Uh-huh," nodded Danny, "What the heck's going on with that first page?"

"Huh?"

Jack looked down. The first page had been covered by a pasted sheet of A4 paper, which was covered by a few seemingly random letters in large print.

_WJRTAJ PJD UL YBT YMWJJ YMWJJ_

_TUJS GFHP TK GTTP_

_FQQ NX NS YMJWJ_

"I think my dad was a bit insane," shrugged Jack.

Danny squinted, looking more closely at the letters.

"Actually, I think this might be a code," he mused, "Hold on, let me get a pad..."

* * *

It was late 1977 when Jeremiah Fenton left his family.

Times were hard, which had contributed to his decision. These were the turbulent years after Vietnam and Watergate, when brown-outs were common, the economy war poor and the USSR had missiles pointed at every square mile of Western territory. Jeremiah's place of employment, the Grand River Mining Company (a subsidiary of Augustus Grim's scrap company), had closed in the spring of '77, despite the fact that the coal was nowhere near running out and the safety record was the best in the Pacific Northwest. Jeremiah had no job prospects and his marriage was falling apart. All in all, Jeremiah believed he was no longer needed nor wanted in his southern Washington abode – and in any case, he had picked up the scent of a strange..._wrongness_.

So he packed up, left all of his savings on the dining room table (which wasn't large – they lived in a log cabin) and a note saying that the money was to be used to get his young son Jack an education, packed up his few worldly possessions and absconded into the cold night. He left no information as to where he had gone, and never contacted his wife or son again.

Unwilling to admit that Jeremiah had abandoned them, his wife simply told Jack that the family patriarch had gone on the trail of employment in California. A few years later, she faked a letter claiming that Jeremiah had died in a mine collapse, and that was the end of it.

Jack wouldn't discover the truth for many years.

* * *

"Got it!" exclaimed Danny, "Subtract five from each letter!"

"What's it say, Danny-boy?" asked Jack.

"Hold on..." Danny began to write, "Remove key PG two three three...open back of book...all is in there."

Jack flipped through the book, eventually finding a small, silver key taped to one of the pages. He tore it out and closed the book, flipping it to the back.

"Wait a minute," he realised, "The back pages are fake! There's a compartment hidden in here!"

"Hidden in what, sweetie?"

Maddie walked into the ops centre, eyebrow raised.

"Danny!" she exclaimed, noticing Danny's presence, "Glad to see you helping your father with his project!"

"Eh, it's this or _War and Peace_."

"So, did you find anything?" asked Maddie, leaning over Jack's shoulder.

Jack turned his head to face hers. His face was pale.

"My dad was hiding something from me, Mads," he replied, hollowly, "But...why?"

"Only one way to find out," replied Danny, putting the key into the lock, "You sure you wanna do this, dad?"

Jack swallowed and nodded.

* * *

The road Jeremiah took was long and treacherous at the best of times. The woodlands and mountains of Washington and Oregon were dangerous at the best of times – but these were not the best of times.

A few days into his long march, Jeremiah began to realise he was being followed. Every now and then, he caught glimpses of men in dark grey and brown suits, tremendously unsuited for the wilderness. Jeremiah assumed they were either from the Government or Grim's men.

He realised he needed to go to ground. Luckily, the Government had already helped him in that regard.

The Cold War was now at its coldest. Relations between the USA and the Soviet Union were at their nadir, and nuclear war was a very real possibility. Fallout bunkers were being constructed nationwide in an effort to save as much of the population as possible. One had been constructed in the woodlands near a small town, and immediately abandoned to the low likelihood of such a minor area being nuked. Jeremiah found this bunker and realised he'd found his hideout.

And it was thus that Jeremiah Fenton began his short but eventful time in Gravity Falls.

* * *

There was not much in the small compartment. There were a few newspaper clippings from the years 1977-81, a few defaced dollar bills (whoever did it seemed to be absolutely terrified of the Great Seal), a letter and a folded-up piece of cloth.

"The heck is wrong with the Great Seal?" mused Danny.

Maddie picked up one of the clippings. It was about Reagan's inauguration, and seemed to have been used as a writing pad. Most of the writing was indecipherable, but a few choice words – 'doom', 'trust nobody' and most commonly '**BILL**'.

"Bill?" she mused, "Maybe your father really didn't like the Clintons?"

"That or _Twitch Plays Pokémon_," shrugged Danny.

"Maybe my dad really was insane," mused Jack, "I mean, my mom always told me he was a bit..."

"Read the letter, Jack," suggested Maddie, "He might be able to explain himself."

Jack took a deep breath and began to read.

* * *

_My son,_

_I open this letter by informing you that I am truly sorry for leaving you. However, at this point in time, I am convinced that if I had stayed, both you and I would be dead._

_For the last few years, I have investigated the secrets of a small town called Gravity Falls in Oregon. I initially believed that this town was in some way connected to the closure of the Grand River Mine, but I know now that rabbit hole runs far deeper than that. Our world is not – and never has been – as it seems._

_The first, least important but admittedly most painful, presumably for both our persons, is close to home. Your mother, and my beloved albeit estranged wife, has been working for the enemy. She is an agent of a secret organisation called the Office of Ghost Intelligence and Warfare (invariably known as the Guys in White) who has been tasked by her masters to groom you into the perfect ghost hunter. She aims to distract you with the belief that all ghosts are malevolent, and thus distract you from the true foe._

_The GiW's puppet master is a being called ReGenesis – a being that has transcended space, time and static form. ReGenesis thinks himself to be a master manipulator, but the truth is that he himself is but a pawn._

_The true master is _[smudge] _has made sure to be seen as above suspicion to the King. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, TRUST THIS INDIVIDUAL._

_Unfortunately, I will be unable to act against our foe. I have drawn the attention of a being of exceptional power who cannot be defined by our mere mortal morality. If Bill finds me, my long-term plans will be ruined. As my plans to produce a body double have failed miserably (that is a gross understatement), I will be forced to move on – I will disguise myself in body and mind, that Bill nor the foe shall find my secrets. My notes have been split in four – under no circumstances are they to be brought together, lest _[smudge] _and ruin be unto us all._

_My boy, my dearest Jack, you are my last hope. You must travel to Gravity Falls and find the fourth volume of my notes, hidden at the map grid point I have enclosed at the bottom of this page. Find these notes and finish what I started – stop the enemy from gaining victory, lest we all be doomed to a new dark age._

_Good luck. Trust nobody but those closest to you. Do not try to find me, as I am not the man I once was. And always remember – for all my chronicling and unveiling of truths, my single proudest achievement will always be Jack Fenton._

_Your father,_

_Jeremiah Fenton, alias F. McGuckin._

* * *

Jack put down the note.

"Are you sure we can believe that?" asked Maddie, "I mean, it's a bit farfetched..."

"Mom, we have a portal to a dimension of ghosts in the basement," replied Danny, "Our town routinely gets attacked by spirits, monsters and the occasional occult magician. I don't think we have a right to question this."

"True," nodded Maddie, scratching her chin, "Very true. But if this is correct, then..."

"He really did love me."

Jack wiped his eyes.

"I...I always thought he left because he didn't like us," he said, "I mean, that's what mom said, and I never had any reason...and she was always so good to me..."

He shook his head. Danny put a hand on his father's shoulder.

"Come on, dad," he reassured, "You've got us, right? And now you know the truth, so isn't that better?"

"I don't know, Danny," replied Jack, shaking his head, "I don't know."

There was a long silence.

"Hey, wait a minute, what's on the cloth?" quizzed Maddie.

Danny picked it out and began to unfold it.

It was a family tree, hand sown into what looked like an old parachute canvas. Danny scanned the picture with his finger, finding his father.

"Hey, it's your family tree!" exclaimed Danny, "Probably not gonna cheer you up, but this'll help with your genealogy! Does that..."

His voice trailed off.

The family tree was updating itself. Stitches were appearing from nowhere, creating new lines and names on the canvas. Maddie's name appeared next to Jack's, and Danny and Jazz emerged underneath.

"Ooh, self-updating," Danny noted, "Gotta admit, I'm pretty impressed."

Maddie began to follow Jack's line up with her finger. She passed Jeremiah (and his wife, Clarissa Amore – perhaps Operative C would be more appropriate) and passed his father, and his father, and his father, until eventually she reached a familiar name.

"...oh my," she breathed.

"...that's...that's not what I was expecting when I started this," gulped Jack.

"I'm getting the feeling everything just changed here," said Danny.

Maddie's finger was pointing to a single name, simple in stitching but astronomical in its implications.

_Arthur Pendragon_.

* * *

"...yep, that's not good. Command is going to be mightily annoyed."

A man in a golden uniform and a man in a three-piece suit were laid on the roof of the building across from FentonWorks, the former gazing inside with a spyglass.

"That isn't good, Mr. Charles," muttered Major Locker, an intelligence officer under Sir Galahad's command, "Galahad is gonna have an ulcer."

"You mean the fat guy has a better claim to the throne then he does?" replied Mr. Charles, formerly of the Witchfinders-General.

"Yes," replied Locker, "And this..._smudge_ fellow...he could be problematic. I mean, the note claims he's controlling ReGenesis."

"As if fighting Gawain and the witch queen wasn't enough," muttered Mr. Charles.

Locker stood up.

"This concern is secondary for now," he said, shaking his head, "For now, we gather information and round up workers. Charles, did we get Manson and Foley?"

"They're already halfway to World's End as we speak," sneered Mr. Charles.

"Good, good," nodded Locker.

He put his hand behind his back.

"Let's leave this place," he stated.

"But shouldn't we be gathering..."

"Galahad was very specific," replied Locker, "We don't touch the Fentons and we don't touch the Red Huntress. They are Galahad's, to do as he sees fit. Their fates, I imagine, will not be kind."

He shook his head.

"Now let's get out of this rain..."

* * *

AN: Slightly less insane than yesterday, but only slightly.

Also, I made a _Twitch Plays Pokemon_ reference! Savour it, 'cause it's not happening again!


	8. 08 10 14: A Mile In My Socks

Okay, before we start, I'm gonna need a brief explanation.

First, yep this one is pretty GF centered. I'll try to cut back on that for the next few (the next one is Gaz centred WINK WINK NUDGE NUDGE), but I'm very obsessive about things and can make no promises.

I like Wendy-Dipper friendship. Therefore, their interactions are, for all intents and purposes, not me shipping them. _That said_, I don't have any real problem with the pairing, on the stipulation that it's either one-sided from Dipper or that it takes place in the future (at least five years from the present). Since shipping is a minefield, I thought I'd get that out of the way.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor: **Yeah, now I think of it, it might have been funnier if Timmy believed E3 and there was another character (Danny?) as the skeptic. Ah well. Glad you liked my characterisations! Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** McGucket would be a pretty interesting relative to have, I reckon. Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Good guess, but I can't tell you if you're right. :D Thanks for the review!

**Third-Kind:** Our climate probably facilitates the mold a bit more, I suppose. Thanks very much!

**Cartoonatic55:** Stops? Where we're going, we don't need stops! As per the parody, I reckon I can get that out. Send me a dA message and we can plan it out. :) Thanks!

**TweenisodeOrange:** That it does, that it does. It also puts you in the mood for codes. Thanks!

**Agimat-AltoSax713:** Oh don't you worry sir, the Fentons are going to Oregon very soon. :D Thank you!

* * *

**08/10/14: A Mile in My Socks**

There are several sentences on this Earth which always end in disaster. These are things like 'what can go wrong?' and 'this is going really well.' But if you were acquainted with a certain boy genius, the absolute worst of these was 'it's my latest invention.'

"It's my latest invention!"

"Dude, seriously? You know what happens when you say that," grunted Danny, "There's always some kind of disaster."

"But on the plus side, it's usually hilarious," said Sheen.

Jimmy shook his head.

"Come on, guys," he said, waving his arm in the direction of 'Team Neutron' (in this case, Carl, Sheen, Danny and Timmy) and shaking his head, "This one's safe. I tested it."

The group were standing in a conference centre in Portland, next to a machine covered by a sheet. The machine was about half Jimmy's size and very boxy, but that was all the group (aside Jimmy) knew about it. They were there for a Science and Local Tourism Conference, one which was offering a prize for the most interesting invention showcased.

"Okay, Einstein, what is it?" demanded Timmy.

"Gentlemen, behold!" replied Jimmy, grasping the sheet, "The Neutronic Neural Swap Device Mk. V!"

He pulled the sheet off.

There was a long pause.

"It's a sock drawer," said Danny.

"It's not a sock drawer!" snapped Jimmy, opening the top drawer of the sock drawer, "Each of these socks have been matched with a second pair and scanned by the machine. If two people put on a pair each, their neural processes will be transferred to their partner's body, thus allowing them to live out the lives of..."

"Dude, it's a _sock drawer_," said Timmy, "You can't swap people's bodies with _socks_."

"I can and I will," snapped Jimmy, "We tested it, didn't we Carl?"

"I can vouch that Jimmy's hair is really heavy," said Carl.

"Is it? Really?" mused Jimmy.

His watch suddenly beeped.

"Ah, hold on," he grumbled, "Have to go register for the contest. Carl, you're my back up. The rest of you, guard this with your lives."

"Don't worry," said Timmy, "Nobody's gonna take your sock drawer."

"It's not a sock drawer!" shouted Jimmy as he walked away.

Danny and Timmy shrugged and turned back to the machine.

"It's a sock drawer," nodded Danny, "It's totally a sock drawer."

"Hey," asked Timmy, elbowing Danny, "Wanna make him think we switched bodies?"

"Yeah, let's mess with him," chuckled Danny, "I mean, his ego's already going through the roof. He needs to be taken down a peg. We'd need to make it look real, though..."

Timmy opened the drawer, pulled out two pairs of generic white socks and stuffed them in his pocket.

"There, when he counts it up, those socks'll be missing," he said.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Sheen, "I mean, Jimmy's inventions are _usually_ real..."

"Oh, come on," shrugged Danny, "Everybody's wrong sometimes, and he needs to learn that. Now let's go find a place to hide these socks."

Danny and Timmy walked away.

"But what if in teaching him he's wrong," mused Sheen, "You yourselves are doing something wrong..."

He shrugged.

"Eh, who cares?" he shrugged, "Flurp binge!"

He walked away.

Not far away, Sheldon Plankton was watching them through a mouse hole.

"Brain switching socks, eh?" he mused, "That could be useful...I must steal those socks!"

There was a long silence.

"Well, that sentence wasn't big on dignity."

* * *

"Okay, I understand conventions are a bit weird, but why is there a designated bare feet zone? Seems like a health hazard..."

"According to this information sheet, it's meant to make us feel 'liberated from societal norm.'"

"Heh. _Waaaaaay _ahead of 'em, Sandy. I've got my socks on my _hands_."

"Aw, that's adorable, Spongebob...also kinda smelly."

Dipper Pines was sitting a few tables away from Spongebob and Sandy in the food court, picking at a cup of noodles. He didn't even really like the variety of noodles, but it was cheap, and so was Grunkle Stan. Every now and again he'd look up at the other table, sigh a little, and go back to aimlessly stirring the noodles.

"Dipper! Look! Look what we got!"

Dipper looked up as Mabel emerged on a mighty steed (read; Soos' shoulders), coming to a stop next to Dipper's table. She jumped off Soos, holding up a stuffed pig.

"I got him for Waddles," she explained, "He can be his little brother!"

"I think Waddles is more likely to _eat_ that thing," muttered Dipper.

"What's wrong, dude?" asked Soos, sitting down on the chair next to him.

"Yeah, you can tell us!" grinned Mabel, putting the stuffed pig on the table, "Tell Waddles Jr. what happened!"

"Nothing," replied Dipper, "I'm just kinda bummed that we lost that laptop. I mean, after all we went through to get it..."

"Hey Sandy! Random hug?"

"Random hug!"

Dipper narrowed his eyes as Spongebob and Sandy hugged for no apparent reason.

"I'm going to the no-shoe place," he grumbled, "See you guys later."

He walked away, hands in his pocket.

"Poor Dipper," sighed Mabel, "Still hasn't gotten over Wendy..."

"He'll get over it, dude," shrugged Soos, "Nobody's first crush ever works out."

"Did you have a first crush?" asked Mabel.

"Yeah, back in middle school," replied Soos, "You see, there was this girl..."

* * *

"Really?" said Danny, crossing his arms, "We're just gonna dump them here?"

He and Timmy were standing in front of the 'sock holding shelf' outside the no-shoes zone. Timmy was holding the socks in one hand and scanning the shelves for similar looking pairs.

"Yep," replied Timmy, "There's so many socks here, Jimmy'll never find them, so he'll have no reason to think we're pretending!"

"But what if someone else puts them on?" asked Danny.

"Dude, it isn't real," reminded Timmy, "They came from a sock drawer."

"Alright, fine," muttered Danny, "But then we get out of here. This place smells like a biochemical warzone..."

"Okay!" nodded Timmy, throwing the socks onto two random shelves, "Now come on! It's prank time!"

He and Danny walked away, unaware of a slight spark of static electricity from the socks...

* * *

The Mystery Shack's stand, situated in the heart of the no-shoe zone, was seeing little in the way of business – largely because of the fact that Grunkle Stan had marked up all the prices by 200%. Dipper was sitting next to the stand, skimming through the '3' journal to see if it mentioned any other way to find the author's secrets. It seemed fruitless, but Dipper Pines was not one to give up.

"Hey, Dip!"

Dipper looked up. Wendy was leaning over him, pointing over her shoulder.

"I'm sneaking out while Mr. Pines is distracted," she told him, "Wanna come check this place out?"

Dipper looked behind Wendy. Grunkle Stan was talking to a somewhat rotund red crab, the conversation being something about teaming up to rip conference-goers off.

"Yeah, sure Wendy," nodded Dipper, "This place kinda smells anyway."

"Tell me about it," said Wendy, crossing her arms, "Who comes up with a 'no-shoe zone' anyway?"

"I'm being to think this convention is a bit...unfocused," shrugged Dipper, as they headed to collect their shoes.

* * *

Jimmy was behind the sock drawer, fiddling with some of the machinery at the back. He stood up as Danny and Timmy ran up, both looking shocked.

"Jimmy, your sock drawer works!" exclaimed Danny.

"It's not a sock drawer!" snapped Jimmy, "But thanks for admitting that, yes, this thing does work."

"No, really!" shouted Timmy, "We were trying to prove that it was fake, so we tried some of the socks and now I, Danny Fenton, am stuck in Timmy's tiny yet remarkably handsome body!"

"And I'm stuck in Danny's stud of a form!" added Danny, "What do we do?!"

"I am completely convinced that there is a problem," nodded Carl, his tone flat.

Jimmy rolled his eyes.

"Very funny, guys," he grumbled, "I know it's you. I can tell your mannerisms."

"But Jimmy!" said Danny, "I'm stuck in..." He snorted. "I'm stuck...I can't do this, this is just too stupid!"

Danny and Timmy broke into cackles of laughter.

"Are you done?" sniffed Jimmy, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, sorry," replied Timmy, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "It's just, you're so convinced that you can swap people's brains with socks! It's hilarious!"

"It's _true_, Turner," snapped Jimmy.

"Yeah, whatever," shrugged Timmy, "We better get those socks back, then..."

Jimmy paled.

"Wait, did you take my socks?" he demanded.

"...yes, yes we did," nodded Danny.

"And did you hide them?"

"...yeah."

"Y-you idiots!" exclaimed Jimmy, "What happens if someone puts them on?! I still haven't worked out how to swap people back, for Neptune's sake!"

He paused.

"Wow, I gotta stop talking to Spongebob," he said to himself.

He shook his head.

"You did this, you can get them back," he snapped, "Before anyone finds them! And if anyone _has_ put them on, you get explain to them that you're the geniuses who caused this mess! Now _get going!_"

"Wow, you really believe that the socks can..." began Timmy.

"Come on, Jimmy," scoffed Danny, "Who's gonna just put on some random socks?"

* * *

"Huh," mused Dipper, picking up the socks, "I don't remember my socks being this clean...ah well."

He slipped on the socks and reached for his shoes. Grabbing them, he sat on a bench to put them on, eyes closed.

Suddenly, there was a slight prick of static electricity in both feet.

_Ow! What was...ah, probably just static, _he thought.

He slipped on his shoes, and immediately noticed something odd.

_Wait a minute...have my shoes always been this big? And why does my hat feel different?_

He opened his eyes, stood up and immediately lost balance, wobbling from side to side with vertigo.

"Wait, I'm taller?" he said.

He then clamped his hands of his mouth.

_Okay, _that_ wasn't my voice. In fact, it kinda sounded like..._

_Oh no._

He turned to a mirror inexplicably positioned next to him. Wendy stared back at him. Behind her, he could see himself, who seemed to be coming to the same revelation he had.

Dipper raised an arm. The Wendy in the mirror mimicked the movement.

"...not _again_," groaned Dipper.

* * *

Plankton watched from another mouse hole (there were many of them in the centre, for some reason), chuckling darkly to himself.

"Neutron's invention works," he sneered, turning around to face his audience (two pairs of stolen socks) and rubbing his hands together, "Now I just have to get one pair on myself and another on Mr. Krabs, and the formula will be mine without a fight!"

He breathed in to cackle maniacally, but instead began to cough and hold his nose.

"I don't think that boy ever changes his socks," he muttered.

* * *

AN: I think there'll be another part to this one before we're though. If not - eh, I can co-opt it for Nickhouse or something.

Main reason I did this is because the idea of Jimmy shouting dramatically about socks is hysterical.


	9. 09 10 14: The Sea of Switching

I heart tall ships.

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Yeah, mind-switching socks are a mite farfetched, don't you think? :P Looking forward to the note. Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** Yeah, it was Spandy. ;) Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Then I hope this lives up to expectations. :) Yep, Danny and Timmy are gonna have a bit of egg on their faces when this is over. Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** I hadn't thought of that, so...yeah, okay! Thanks very much!

**OddAuthor:** Danny has to let his hair down sometimes, eh? And Cindy might be in this one yet... Thanks!

* * *

**09/10/14: The Sea of Switching**

_With thanks to Zim'sMostLoyalServant for allowing me to use the idea._

HMS _Colossus_ was far at sea, inbound for her destination to her new station in the Caribbean. Her orders were two-fold; provide additional support to anti-pirate campaigns in the region, and deliver a new Governor to his post.

The voyage had not been an easy one. The currents had been rough, the winds refused to do what was wanted of them and accidents were alarmingly common. None of this had been helped by the attitude of one of her passengers – one Gaz Membrane, the daughter of Governor Membrane.

Throughout their long, dreadful time at sea, the crew and marines of the _Colossus_ had been subjected to her tyranny. If a sailor committed any perceived slight – and the list of offenses were often so petty as 'breathed in general direction' – they would find themselves before the captain on trumped-up charges. As the word of a poor sailor meant nothing next to a wealthy noblewoman, they would inevitably be found guilty and put to the lash.

Naturally, this sycophantic agreement made Captain Bridges very unpopular – but not as unpopular as Gaz.

Not even the officers were safe. The ship's lieutenants, particularly the older and wiser ones, had learnt to keep a wide berth in possible, and smile and nod to everything she said if they couldn't. The midshipmen, often teenagers and young boys, were not so lucky – Gaz descended on the young officers like a vulture, presumably out of her own amusement. Her favourite victim was her brother, Midshipman Dib Membrane.

Which leads us to the beginning of our story.

Dib was bound to the side of one of the ship's cannon, being beaten with a rod by the bo'sun for the crime of 'speaking out of line with a passenger aboard the ship.' Gaz stood off to the side, flanked by Captain Bridges and his second lieutenant, Lieutenant Groves, with a marine sergeant behind them.

"Twenty-seven," announced the bo'sun to the time of his rod, "Twenty eight...I think he's passed out, sir."

"Wake him," ordered Gaz.

The bo'sun grabbed a mug of water set aside for this possibility. He poured it over Dib's face – the young midshipman didn't respond.

"He can't take any more, sir," the first lieutenant pointed out.

"No point carrying out further punishment if he hasn't the senses to learn from it," nodded Bridges, "We shall continue the sentence tomorrow. Bo'sun, take him below."

The bo'sun nodded and began to untie Dib from the cannon.

"Mr. Groves, I think I shall retire," said Bridges, "The deck is yours. Ensure the lady is in good company until she does the same."

"Aye sir," nodded Groves, saluting.

Bridges lazily returned the salute and walked away. Gaz glared at the lieutenant and followed him out.

"I think you've spoilt her fun, sir," mused the bo'sun.

"That isn't fun," snorted Groves, "It's tyranny. Sergeant?"

The marine snapped to attention.

"Keep an eye on her tonight," he ordered, "I don't want her pulling this on anyone else."

"Aye sir," nodded the sergeant, "Will do."

* * *

Thick fog wafted over the deck of the _Colossus_, which suited Gaz just fine. She was leaning on the railing, looking out into the mist. Not far away, two sailors were talking as they tied down a rope.

"...I'm telling you, man, these waters are cursed, that's why we've been having so much rotten luck!"

"Aye, I'm inclined to believe you there. We're already two weeks behind schedule – might as well be in the bleeding doldrums, for all the progress we're making."

"Mark my words, I got a feeling something's gonna happen tonight..."

Gaz tried to ignore them, but their presence irked her. Shaking her head, she moved up the ship to the bow – the seaman would pay for disturbing her silence when the captain woke up.

She was at the bow and preparing to enter silent-vigil mode again when a voice cut through the silence.

"So, what'd the midshipman do to yer this time?"

She turned around, nearly jumping out of her skin.

An old sailor, clad in an old ragged uniform with a face revenged by scurvy and the elements, was leaning against one of the bow guns, his expression unreadable.

"None of your business," snarled Gaz.

"Oh, but it is, isn't it?" said the old sailor, "We're a ship's company – we 'ave to trust each other."

"Go away," ordered Gaz, "Or I'll have you..."

"Flogged?" quizzed the old sailor, "And what does a floggin' prove? What does it teach yer? To turn yer back?"

He wheezed. Gaz wasn't sure if it was laughter.

"Floggin's useless if it's unjust," he continued, "It's just makes a crew mad. It makes 'em 'ate yer."

"I thought I told you to leave!" snapped Gaz.

"Miss, if you were a sailor and you acted like that, yer'd be 'anged in an 'eartbeat."

He crossed his arms.

"But don't let me tell yer," he sneered, "Why not find out for yerself?"

He waved an arm and the fog became heavier. In the far distance, Gaz heard an eerie sound like whales singing.

"What're you doing?" demanded Gaz, "If you don't stop this, I'll...I'll tie you to a cannonball and throw you over the side!"

"Sure yer will, ma'am, sure yer will," replied the seaman, disappearing into the fog until only his silhouette was visible.

Gaz grit her teeth and followed the sailor into the fog, fists clenched. She didn't notice her shoes turning into hard boots, nor her dress melting into rough, canvas trousers.

"You're gonna regret this!" she snarled, "In fact, forget the cannonball! I'm gonna maroon you in an island full of...all the horrors! All of them!"

A mangy black hat appeared on her head, and the top of her dress turned into a striped shirt.

Gaz neared the silhouette, blinded with rage. _How dare this man taunt her?_

"In fact, you know what? I'm gonna beat you within an inch of your life every day _forever!_ You hear me?!"

She reached the silhouette and raised a fist. With all the force she could muster, she clobbered it in the face.

As soon as her fist made contact, the fog vanished.

Gaz found herself standing in front of Lieutenant Groves, who was bleeding from the mouth. The sergeant stood next to him, looking from Groves to Gaz in horror.

"...what in _god's name?_" exclaimed the sergeant.

"What the devil is going on?" demanded Groves, climbing to his feet, "What on earth are you wearing, Ms. Membrane?"

"Uh..."

"Sir!"

Dib limped towards them, snapping to attention next to the three.

"First Lieutenant Edwards sends his compliments," he said, "And asks you to attend an immediate meeting in the captain's cabin. We think Captain Bridges has been poisoned."

He turned to Groves, suddenly noticing his injury. He glanced at Gaz's fist, seeing traces of blood.

"Seaman!" he snapped, "Did you strike the officer?"

"_Seaman?_" spluttered Gaz, "I'm the Governor's daughter, you stupid little..."

"Did this man hit you, sir?" asked Dib, ignoring Gaz.

"Man? But..."

The sergeant, seeming to realise what was happening, turned to Groves, crossing a finger over the front of his neck. Groves noticed the gesture and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Mr. Membrane, he did," he nodded.

"Darn it, we don't need this," muttered Dib, "Sergeant! Clap this man in chains and take him below."

"I'm your sister, you big-headed little pr-"

"With pleasure, sir," said the sergeant pleasantly, grabbing Gaz by the collar, "Come along, boy, you've a date with the rats."

He dragged Gaz away from the officers, who hurried back to the cabin to discuss Bridges untimely passing.

"Get your hands off me!" thundered Gaz, "I'm better then you! I'm in charge of this ship, don't you get that..."

"Ma'am," replied the sergeant, smirking, "This reminds me of a saying."

"What the heck are you talking about?" demanded Gaz.

"Don't you know it, ma'am?" chuckled the sergeant, "What goes around, comes around..."

* * *

AN: Well, that was bizarrely satisfying. I think I know why these stories are so popular!


	10. 10 10 14: The Plot Thickens

Get out your casebooks because it's time for more sleuthing!

Review replies;

**Night-Waker:** Oh, indubitably! :D Thanks for reading!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I might well take you up on that, some day. :) What was your core idea, anyway? Thanks for reviewing!

**OddAuthor:** Indeed it is, indeed it is. :) Thanks for the review!

* * *

**10/10/14: The Plot Thickens**

_London Euston Station, Euston Road, 1pm. 55h left._

In retrospect, taking the bus through the middle of London at lunch time had been a bad idea.

After several hours of sitting in traffic and feeling themselves slowly dying, Jazz and Athena had finally alighted outside Euston station. They were walking across the road to Timmy's hotel when Jazz felt something slam into her shoulder.

She turned around, glaring as a figure in a trenchcoat and hat strode away without paying her any heed.

"Stupid suspicious-looking pedestrians," she muttered.

She shook it out of her mind as they entered the lobby, walking up to the bored-looking receptionists (were there ever any _enthusiastic_ receptionists, or did sitting at a desk talking to people all day produce cynicism?)

"Fenton and Athena, PIs," said Jazz, "We're here to talk to the Turners."

"Whatev," grunted the receptionist, handing them a room key.

"Since when are we private investigators?" quizzed Athena.

"I'm just getting into the swing of things," grinned Jazz.

* * *

Timmy's room, as part of one of Britain's more notorious 'el cheapo' hotel chains, was not particularly large, and he had been relegated to the sofa bed by his parents. As a result of this, the interview with him took place on the floor.

"So, what's going on?" asked Timmy, "Is something up with Danny?"

"Nah, he's fine, everything's normal there," said Jazz, unaware of just how wrong she was, "Dr. Insano's been accused of the attempted murder of Edward Dooge and we're trying to clear his name."

"Wait..._murder?!_" exclaimed Timmy, "Insano's not capable of that!"

"We know that, but the police don't," replied Athena, "We need you to answer some questions."

"Where were you at 10pm last night?"

"I was...sleeping," said Timmy, unconvincingly.

"Timmy, you were one of the last people to talk to Dooge," said Jazz, "It'd really help all of us if you told us the truth."

"_I_ know the truth!"

Mr. Turner walked out of the bathroom, grinning broadly.

"No, dad! Don't say it! Make up a lie!" exclaimed Timmy, his face paling.

Jazz and Athena glanced at each other, concerned.

"Yep, I know exactly what happened!" said Mr. Turner, pointing at the ceiling, "Timmy is _guilty..._"

Jazz gasped.

"...of having embarrassing musical tastes!"

There was a long cause.

"Wait, what?"

* * *

_EXHIBIT B – MR. TURNER'S STATEMENT_

_Mr. Turner regales the story with all the glee of a father deliberately embarrassing his son._

_He tells us that Timmy returned to the hotel room at 8.30pm (which means he must have used Cosmo and Wanda to 'poof' home), where he ate dinner and went to bed._

_At 9.59pm, Mr. Turner was awakened by a strange but quiet noise. He got up to investigate it, to find that Timmy was laying awake in his bed, listening to Enya on an iPod. Upon being discovered, Timmy tried and failed to make an excuse for his musical tastes._

_Timmy is mortified and his dignity is in tatters, but he's innocent._

* * *

"Look, alright, fine," grumbled Timmy, crossing his arms, "I kinda like Enya. Is that so bad?"

"I don't see a problem with it," shrugged Athena.

"He's a _guy_, strange woman I've never met," explained Mr. Turner, "And that means he has to be held up to ridiculous societal standards for what guys do!"

"You're an idiot," grunted Athena.

"Ha! Yeah right," scoffed Mr. Turner, "Now I'm off to stick my hand up the vending machine! Bye Timmy!"

He walked out the door.

There was a long silence.

"Your father isn't very bright," noted Athena.

"Yeah, I noticed," said Timmy.

* * *

_Portobello Road, Notting Hill, 4pm. 52h left._

Athena and Jazz walked down the road, the latter on the phone.

"_You're at Portobello, then?_" asked Inspector Jensen.

"Yep," nodded Jazz, "Following up on Stanford Pines."

"_Be careful,_" warned Inspector Jensen, "_You're in the Met's territory now._"

"The Met?"

"_Metropolitan Police. I'm London City Police, so if they get you for anything, I can't help you._"

"Why would they be interested in us?" asked Jazz.

"_Put it this way – Ovard Grim's been seen at Scotland Yard twice this week."_

"Oh."

She shook her head.

"We'll be fine, Jensen," she reassured him, "As long as we don't do anything illegal, Grim can't touch us!"

"_Hope you're right. I'll get back to you with Grim's address. Bye._"

"Bye."

She turned to Athena.

"Jensen reckons Grim's influencing the Metropolitan Police," she explained.

"If he is, it isn't for himself," grunted Athena, "Grim's a middleman – somebody's going through him..."

"Do middlemen try to kill people?" quizzed Jazz.

"Possibly," nodded Athena.

Before long, they had reached a small stand, a short way away from the usual markets of Portobello Road. To be honest, stand was probably too grand a word – it was a TV box, turned upside down and covered with worthless knickknacks. A small sheet of A3 paper proclaimed that it was the stand of the 'MYSTERY SH-' – half the sheet had been torn off.

An elderly man was sitting behind the box, counting his money.

"Mr. Pines?" said Jazz, "Fenton and Athena, PIs. We're here to talk about..."

"_I did nothing!_" exclaimed Stan, jumping to his feet, "_The stand that was here before got smashed up before I got here!_"

Jazz and Athena exchanged a glance.

"Actually, we were gonna ask what you were doing last night," said Jazz.

"Oh."

Stan sat down, mopping his brow.

"Where were you at 10pm last night, Mr. Pines?" asked Athena, crossing her arms.

"Err...donating to charity?" offered Stan, "Feeding the poor? Insert altruistic activity here?"

"He's not gonna tell us the truth," muttered Jazz.

"Well," mused Athena, "There is that _thing_ I taught you last month..."

Jazz smirked.

"Mr. Pines, I'm gonna need your palm," he said.

"Well, this is getting awkward really quickly...but okay," shrugged Stan, offering his hand.

Jazz whispered an incantation under her breath and put a finger on Stan's palm...

* * *

_EXHIBIT C – STAN PINES' MEMORIES_

_My use of a memory incantation reveals Stan's whereabouts at 10pm last night._

_He can be seen on Portobello Road, sneaking around the stalls on the sides of the road. Every now and then, he goes through the boxes of packed goods and picks out something he likes before moving on._

_At about 10.01pm, he runs into a patrolling policeman. This is bad for him, as he is carrying a bag full of stolen wares. He then proceeds to spend the rest of the night in the lock-up._

_As magic is inadmissible in court, I will have to ask Inspector Jensen to pick up the police record for me. However, this proves that Stan is innocent – of this particular crime._

* * *

"He's innocent," Jazz stated, "He's a thief and a liar, but he's innocent."

"Yeah, you're a bunch of jerks too," snorted Stan, "Can I get back to work now? I have rubes to exploit!"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Pines," nodded Athena.

* * *

_Unnamed Hotel, vicinity of Bank, 6pm. 50h left._

Jazz sat in the lobby of the hotel. With the investigation unfinished and Grim still not found, Athena and Jazz had agreed to stay in London for the time being.

Sighing, Jazz reached into the pocket to pull out her case notes – she was fairly certain that it was Grim at this point – and found her hand brushing against a strange scrap of paper.

"What the..." she muttered.

She pulled out a folded, brown slip of paper. Raising an eyebrow, she unfolded it.

_J FENTON_

_YOU ARE BEING GROOMED. ESCAPE ATHENA ASAP._

_ANON_

Jazz suddenly remembered the man from Euston.

"What in the name of..." she muttered to herself, "Groomed?"

* * *

AN: Why is nothing ever simple?


	11. 11 10 14: The Crush

Went out birthday shopping for someone today, so I had to pull this one from my backlog. Also my internet ran out of download and we got speed limited. Ah, one of those days...

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Is it any wonder indeed? Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** It thickens indeed, like some kind of..._THICK THING!_ Thanks for reviewing!

**Night-Waker:** Suspect all the things! Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** It's a mystery story. If we have all the answers this early, I'm not doing my job right. :) Thanks very much!

* * *

**11/10/14: The Crush**

_Retroville – The Near Future..._

"Bravo-Two-Niner, Bravo Two Niner, is the area clear, over?"

_"__Roger, Central, all civilians have been evacuated."_

"Copy, Two-Niner, RTB ASAP."

The technician turned on his chair, motioning to the man next to him in the darkened room.

"We're clear to deploy, sir."

Lieutenant Michel Case nodded, pressing a button on his console.

"Package is cleared to deploy, sir. Happy hunting."

* * *

The massive, metal airship hovered over the battered city of Retroville, gigantic propellers steadying her against the wind. As she turned towards the centre of the city, the moon lit up the large red letters on her side – EDD _Jules Verne_.

Inside, klaxons and sirens blared as the crew ran to their stations. A short, red-faced man in a bright red-and-white uniform, replete with short black shako and greying brown mutton chops, stormed through the corridors of the ship.

"Put yer backs into it, yer mongrels!" he boomed in a thick Irish accent, "I want our cargo on the ground in five minutes or I'll have yer heads!"

He reached a steel door, pressing a button on the console to the left-hand side.

"Captain Foliax! Yer requested on the bridge, ma'am!"

The door opened. A young woman dressed in the same uniform as the Irishman (except blue and minus the facial hair) emerged, wearily rubbing her eyes.

"I heard the siren, _Major Patrick_," Captain Libby Foliax grumbled.

Major Seth Patrick smirked as he began to lead Libby to the bridge.

"So," she asked, stretching her arms, "What've we got?"

"Category Three, ma'am," replied Seth, "But it's different from the norm, ma'am. Seems less like an animal and more like...well, you'll see."

"Uh-huh," grunted Libby, "Who's handling this one?"

"Who do you think?" replied Seth, "We're down to our last effective crew. This'll be the General's catch, ma'am."

The two stepped into an elevator, Libby pressing the 'up' button.

"What about _Nautilus_, Seth?" she asked.

"_Nautilus _got sent down first, over the desert," replied Seth, "Tried to keep it low-key 'cause we didn't expect much from a Cat-3. But this one's smart, ma'am."

"What happened?" demanded Libby.

"Operatives Dean and Quinlan got out," replied Seth, "But they got knocked around badly and their mount's a write-off."

"...by a Cat-3?" exclaimed Libby, eyes wide.

"Like I said," replied Seth, "It's smart."

There was a ding, and the door opened.

The bridge was surrounded by a holographic view of the sky around the airship, and was filled with consoles and screens. A small platform was suspended over the rest of the bridge – this was the quarterdeck, where the commanding officers were stationed. The General was walking down from it, heading straight for Libby.

"The deck's yours, Libby," General James Isaac Neutron declared, walking straight past, "I'm going in."

"Seth said this one was different," said Libby, "How the heck is it different?"

"Smarter," Jimmy called back, "It's nothing I can't handle."

"It better be!" snapped Libby, "'Cause if you die out there, I am _not_ taking your place!"

"Noted!" shouted Jimmy, walking out another door.

Libby sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Prepare deployment procedure, people," she grunted.

* * *

Jimmy walked into a small, grey chamber, standing on a podium in the centre.

"VOX," he said, "Activate nanosuit."

"_Copy. Applying nanosuit – Jimmy Neutron._"

A cloud of red dust wafted out of fans on the side of the room. It wafted over to Jimmy and clung to him, covering him from head to toe and shifting in shape. Eventually, it hardened, leaving a full-body suit and helmet.

Jimmy smirked, clenching both fists.

"Thank you, VOX."

"_You're welcome_."

He stepped out of the other side of the room, revealing a long, narrow corridor, not unlike an aeroplane's entry ramp. He walked confidently down, whistling to himself. Eventually, he emerged through a door, entering what seemed to be a high-tech cockpit. Another person in red armour was waiting for him.

"Took your time, Nerdtron," Cindy Vortex grunted, crossing her arms.

"Ms. Vortex," replied Jimmy, smirking to himself as he stood next to her, "Patient as always, I see."

"_General, this is the bridge. Are we cleared to begin?_"

Jimmy looked over to Cindy.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"By all means, lets," smirked Cindy.

"_I'll take that as a yes. Initiating connection process._"

The cockpit around them lit up, and there was a metallic bang as the walkway closed off and retracted.

* * *

"All systems active, ma'am," announced Seth.

"Did you double-check them?" demanded Libby.

"Triple-checked 'em, ma'am."

"Then we're good," nodded Libby, "Engage neural handshake."

An ensign sitting in front of them pressed a series of buttons. Then he looked up, confused.

"Hey, Libby, why do we call it a handshake?" he asked, "Wouldn't it be more accurate to call it a _brain_shake?"

"Just do your job, Sheen," muttered Libby.

* * *

_"__Handshake engaging in three...two...one...engaged._"

From an outsiders perspective, all that could be seen was a slight flash from the instruments. That small flicker betrayed the activation of a highly complex psionic connection between two minds.

Jimmy opened his eyes, grinning to himself as he clenched a fist.

"All systems ready, bridge," he announced, "Ready to deploy."

"_Copy that, General. Standby for aerial deployment._"

Jimmy turned to Cindy.

"I'm detecting a bit of nervousness, Vortex," he said, "What, does the thought of dropping from an airship at four thousand feet scare you?"

"It's the meld," replied Cindy, smirking back, "Makes it hard to tell when the fear's your own, Neutron."

"_Nah_, I'm pretty sure it's you," scoffed Jimmy.

"_We're over the target, lads. Engaging drop procedure._"

* * *

Two massive doors opened up underneath the _Jules Verne_, revealing a hangar at the bottom of the craft. A massive winch began to lower an enormous machine down from the ship.

It was a bipedal robot, colossal in size and painted red-and-yellow. One arm ended in a human-like hand, the other in a mammoth, hi-tech barrel. A large jet turbine was fixed onto the back, just above the spine. The head was short and boxy, with a tiny fibreglass window marking the position of the cockpit. Just above the chest was a small, stencilled designation – _Golden Hind._

"_Dropping you now, guys – good luck, _Golden Hind."

There was a loud cranking noise, and the mech was dropped. It fell like a stone towards the city below.

* * *

The gravity in the cockpit held, but Jimmy still felt a nasty, weightless feeling in the pit of his stomach. He told himself that the meld was passing himself Cindy's feelings – it made him feel better.

"Two thousand feet!" called Cindy.

"Engage jets in ten seconds," nodded Jimmy, "Brace for landing."

He knelt down and raised his left arm. Cindy echoed his movement, raising her right arm instead.

"Five...four...three...two...one..._engage jets!_" shouted Jimmy.

The jets roared to life as the robot approached the large intersection below. It wasn't enough to stop the decent, but it took much of the force out of the landing.

With a crash, the robot landed on the tarmac, cracking it and sending up a cloud of smoke which obscured the whole area. When it cleared, the robot was standing upright, completely undamaged from the decent.

"_Bridge, this is Lieutenant Vortex. We're in the AO, how copy?_"

"_Copy, Ms. Vortex. Jaeger is deployed. _Golden Hind, _you are clear to engage all targets."_

* * *

AN: ENGAGE PACIFIC RIM THEME


	12. 12 10 14: Hey Fiddle Fiddle

This one's short, because I'm going out for dinner and have to focus on my report when I get home. Sorry.

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** Couldn't have said it better myself. :) Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** Yeah, that's as far as I got, sorry. Yeah, Jimmy and Cindy have quite the dynamic, don't they? Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Airships make everything better, mate. _Everything._ Thanks for the review!

* * *

**12/10/14: Hey Fiddle Fiddle**

It was a bright and sunny morning in Bikini Bottom, but Spongebob was feeling glum.

He had arrived at work that morning to find the Krusty Krab closed – neither Squidward nor Mr. Krabs had shown up. He'd waited an hour for them to arrive (along with Plankton, whose latest plan to steal the formula had been thwarted by a locked door), but they quite simply were not coming.

Spongebob sat on the pavement outside the door, half-heartedly playing tic-tac-toe with Plankton as they waited.

"Well, at least it's a nice day," muttered Plankton.

"Uh-huh," nodded Spongebob.

"You know, it's kinda weird, Sponge-boob," mused Plankton, "Krabs hasn't missed a day of business in twenty-five years. He even turned up that time he had plague."

He shrugged.

"To be honest, I'm actually kinda worried."

Spongebob nodded in agreement.

"I haven't seen Patrick for a while, either," he replied, "It's almost like they've been..._abducted._"

There was a long silence.

Then the two laughed hysterically at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"Well," shrugged Plankton, wiping a tear from his eye, "I'm bored with this. I'm going home. You wanna come round, help with my next plan?"

"Nah, I'm still good, I'm afraid," shrugged Spongebob, "I might go see if Sandy's doing anything."

"Alright, guess I'll see you later then," said Plankton, "Bye."

"Bye."

* * *

Bikini Bottom was strangely quiet as Spongebob walked over to the Treedome, but he didn't really pay it any heed.

When he reached the Treedome, he found Sandy sitting outside the door, running a cable from her fuse-box to a small, portable, boxy machine with a slot on the top. She attached the cable to the machine and stopped to admire her handiwork.

"Hey Sandy!"

Sandy turned as Spongebob approached.

"Oh, howdy Spongebob!" she greeted, "Thought you'd be at work."

"Mr. Krabs and Squidward never turned up," replied Spongebob, "Maybe they're sick..."

"Mr. Krabs didn't open up?" quizzed Sandy, "We sure we're talking about your boss here?"

She shook her head.

"Well, now you're here," she said, "Y'all can help me with this!"

She pulled the Fiddley Thing out of her pocket. Spongebob winced a little.

"I had a theory," continued Sandy, "This here doohickie is basically an omnipotent machine of near-limitless power, right?"

"Yeah, it's pretty OP," nodded Spongebob.

"So if I use it to power my house," explained Sandy, "I never have to worry about needing power again!"

"Makes sense," said Spongebob, "But isn't the Fiddley Thing insanely dangerous?"

"Only in the wrong hands," stressed Sandy, "So, do you wanna do the honours, or shall I?"

"Make it so, Ms. Cheeks!" exclaimed Spongebob, pointing at the sky.

Sandy slipped the Fiddley Thing into the slot.

There was a bolt of lightning, and both were thrown back from the machine. The Treedome was filled with light.

When it subsided, Spongebob and Sandy found themselves looking at a chrome version of the Treedome, lined by neon lights. The leaves were now golden and holographic, and the grass was blue.

"...did that work?" asked Spongebob, meekly.

* * *

Cautiously, Sandy opened the door to her transformed home.

"_Welcome, Sandy_," an automated voice proclaimed, "_It looks like you're accessing your house. Would you like some help?_"

"Gonna need to get rid of that," muttered Sandy.

Spongebob entered after her. His eyes widened at the sight before him. The room was basically the same layout as Sandy's old living room, but surrounded by futuristic holographic computers and displays. Also, he was fairly sure the couch was now synthetic leather, which was a plus.

"Oooh," he said, "Techy."

Sandy walked over to a circular pad, which lit up when she stood on it.

"_Please select outfit._"

"Um...casual?" quizzed Sandy.

There was a loud humming noise and her air suit shimmered, turning into her casual outfit – which, for some reason, was now chrome.

"Uh, computer?" she asked, "Why is it chrome?"

"_Everything is chrome in the future._"

"Okay, fair enough."

Spongebob walked up to one of the displays and waved his hand in front of it.

"_Who would you like to locate?_"

"Ooh, it invades privacy, too!" exclaimed Spongebob, "Okay, uh...find Mr. Krabs."

"_Eugene H Krabs – located at World's End Island, South Atlantic._"

"The South Atlantic?" quizzed Spongebob, "That can't be right...what about Patrick?"

"_Patrick Star – located at World's End Island, South Atlantic._"

"Him too?" exclaimed Spongebob, "But...Squidward, what about Squidward?!"

"_Squidward Tentacles – pretending to be ill at his house, Bikini Bottom._"

"Oh, that Squidward!" chuckled Spongebob.

"Well, I'm keeping this," said Sandy, shaking Spongebob out of his thoughts, "Turns out I've got a coffee maker that can increase people's intelligence temporarily. I know what I'm doing tonight!"

"Sandy, have you ever heard of World's End?" asked Spongebob.

"Vaguely," replied Sandy, "It's an island off South America, I think. Some English businessman runs a mine there."

"Maybe Mr. Krabs is prospecting, then," decided Spongebob, "So, can we do this to my house? I want a magic coffee maker."

"Sure thing!" nodded Sandy, "I just need to grab the..."

She trailed off as she pulled the Fiddley Thing out of the slot.

"_Oh no._"

"Sandy, what have we done?"

The Fiddley Thing was smoking and crackling, and the knob had fallen off. The screen was cracked, and the bottom third had been wrecked completely.

They had killed the Fiddley Thing.

* * *

AN: When I declared that this would be the last HU5, I realised there was only one way to make it stick.

I had to kill off the Fiddley Thing. o_o


	13. 13 10 14: When the Wolfsbane Blooms

This one's a sequel to last year's _Wolf_, so go and check that one again if you get lost.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Hehehe...yeah, that Squidward. Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** Yeah, I thought that move wouldn't be popular. =P Thanks for reviewing.

**Cartoonatic55:** Yeah, I'm gonna follow up on World's End, don't worry. Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Easy, I pressed buttons on the keyboard and it happened. :) Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I know, right? It was just shy of it's fifth birthday! :..( Thanks!

**Autobot-Outcast:** The future's so bright I need sunglasses! (because nukes) Anyway, thank you!

* * *

**13/10/14: When the Wolfsbane Blooms**

"Alright, gentlemen, here's the plan."

The park rangers were gathered around a portable table in the wrecked front garden of Vlad's Colorado retreat. They were looking over a map of the surrounding area – several had shotguns and hunting rifles over their shoulders.

The previous night, the park ranger service had received a panicked phone call from a property owner out in the wilderness, screaming something about werewolves. The service had shrugged that off, but the next morning, a helicopter had seen the damage to the front of Vlad's estate. Park rangers had been sent to find the culprit immediately.

"This estate has been attacked, most likely by a wolf," the lead ranger was saying, "Since we cannot abide animals trying to maul our fellow man on private property, we are going to find this feral creature and put it down. We'll go in after sundown and sweep the area – two men to every twenty metres of ground. Any luck, we'll find it by midnight and be home by sunup. Any questions?"

Not far away, Jimmy was sitting on the step of the Ghost Assault Vehicle, holding a rag to the side of his head. Danny was leaning against the Vehicle, arms crossed.

"So, they're gonna try to hunt down a werewolf," he snorted, "Tell me how well that's gonna go."

"This is only the start, Danny," warned Jimmy, "How long until they work out what they're dealing with, huh? How long until they pull out the silver bullets and the stakes and..."

"Jimmy, stakes are for _vampires_."

"I'm a man of science, Danny, this is way out of my league," grunted Jimmy.

He shook his head.

"Gas Planet, what do we do?" he asked.

"We go into the forest tonight," replied Danny, "Hopefully we can beat the park service to Timmy and get him back home. We'll work out how to cure him later."

"Alright, I'll get ready and..."

"_You_," snapped Danny, "Aren't going anywhere with that head-wound. You can stay here and run tech support with Tucker. We'll go."

"Fine," muttered Jimmy, "But if anything happens to you guys, I'm going in."

"Agreed," said Danny.

The two looked back towards the park rangers, noticing a grizzled, older ranger talking to Vlad. Danny narrowed his eyes.

"Something's _off_ about that guy," he muttered.

He shook his head. It didn't matter right now.

* * *

Darkness fell quickly that night, and the park rangers had moved into the forest almost immediately.

Danny and Sam were already ahead of them, creeping through the undergrowth into the heart of the forest. Their way was lit by Sam's dim torch. It was quiet and eerie – occasionally they would hear strange noises in the wind.

"Well, can't say this isn't creepy," muttered Danny.

"You scared, Danny?" smirked Sam.

"Scared of what?" replied Danny, "The dark, or being torn apart by werewolves? Because I'm definitely afraid of one of those things."

"Come on, Danny," shrugged Sam, "It's nothing we haven't handle befo-_AAAAAGGGHH!_"

Her torch had illuminated the remains of a park ranger. The poor fellow had been ripped apart – his gun lay to the side, a few spent shells laid next to it.

"Nothing we haven't handled before, huh?" repeated Danny, scowling.

"I can't...Timmy wouldn't do that," snapped Sam.

"No," replied Danny, "But a werewolf would. We gotta find him."

"And what exactly is our plan for when we find him?" demanded Sam, "Y'know, just so we don't end up like this guy..."

"Improvise," shrugged Danny, "We'll improvise."

* * *

"Daniels...Daniels, come in...Daniels, please respond...damn radios, never work..."

The smell of human flesh was almost irresistibly enticing, but Timmy fought it as he hid behind the rise. Above him, two park rangers were searching down a beaten dirt track – one held a torch, another a shotgun.

"Okay, question," said the torch ranger, "Why do _you_ get the gun?"

"Better marksmanship score, Hadley," replied the gun ranger, smirking, "Unlike you, I can shoot things and hit them."

"Says you," sniffed Hadley.

"You know what this reminds me of?" added the gun ranger, "The first _Alien_ movie. Y'know, before the James Cameron one?"

"Nah, this ain't _Alien_, Verne," shrugged Hadley, "More like _Slender_."

"Geez, now I think about it," shuddered Verne, "It kinda does...seen any bits of paper, Hadley?"

Hadley chuckled.

The two stopped – Hadley pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"So, what if it is a werewolf?" quizzed Verne, "You know, like Dane was saying?"

"Dane's _senile_, Verne, don't listen to him," said Hadley, "But I heard tell that werewolves are _excellent_ trackers. If they're stalking you, you'll never hear them coming."

There was a long silence.

"Heh," snorted Verne, "If this was a horror movie, you'd totally have gotten mauled for saying th-"

A massive, black-furred werewolf burst from the bushes next to him, tackling him to the ground and going straight for his jugular.

"Holy-this is Hadley, we have contact!" Hadley screamed into his radio, "It is _not_ a normal wolf! We need backup AS-_AAAAAGGHHH!_"

Timmy closed his eyes as the werewolf went for Hadley. There were a few cries, some wet, tearing noises, then all was quiet.

Slowly, Timmy opened his eyes and crawled out of his bush.

The werewolf – whose eyes, Timmy noticed, were glowing a fierce red – was standing in front of him, muzzle covered in red gunk. The two rangers were dead, unheeded cries for confirmation emitting from the radio.

"_Why didn't you act, boy?_" it snarled.

"_Th-they're people!_" stammered Timmy, "_You can't just eat people! They're just like us!_"

The wolf sniffed.

"_You're _new_ here, aren't you?_" it spat, "_Abandon your human inhibitions, boy! They will not serve you in the wild!_"

"_Who are you?_" demanded Timmy.

"_When I was a man, two hundred years ago, they called me Rivers,_" replied the wolf, "_But that matters no long. You may call me the Wolf, for it is what I am. And I can help you._"

"_Help me?_" quizzed Timmy.

"_Yes, you have much to learn, and I am a good teacher,_" nodded Wolf, "_We'll start with the..._"

He stopped and the sniffed the air.

"_Fae_," he snarled.

"_Fae?_" repeated Timmy, "_Y-you mean Cosmo and Wanda? Where are they?_"

"_Look to your left,_" replied Wolf.

Timmy did so.

With the enhanced vision of the werewolf, Timmy could just about see Cosmo, Wanda, Spongebob and Sandy combing through the woods.

"Timmy!" called Wanda, "Where are you?"

"_Do as I do,_" snarled Wolf.

"_Wait...wait, _no!_"_

It was too late – Wolf was already off. He bounded through the forest towards his prey...

* * *

"Any of you fellers hear that?" whispered Sandy.

"M-maybe it's the park rangers," shivered Spongebob, "M-maybe we should h-hand th-this over to them, I mean, they-they know the..."

"Wolf," said Wanda.

"Yeah! They know the wolf, so..."

"_Wolf!_"

Wanda reached out and pulled Spongebob back by the collar as a massive black werewolf burst from the trees. The wolf turned quickly, tearing the sponge from Wanda's grips with his powerful claws.

"You get off him, ya dang mangy wolf!"

Sandy leapt onto the wolf, grabbing onto its neck and pulling. The wolf snarled and turned his head, letting Spongebob drop. As soon as his head was facing her, Sandy punched it right in the left eye.

"_Arrgh! ...heh, oh, I like you, girl..you _fight_._"

The wolf turned around violently, throwing Sandy off of him and against a tree. Without pausing, he lunged at the downed squirrel, fangs bared. He bit down on her arm.

"_Get away from her, Wolf!_"

A second wolf emerged from the forest. This one was brown, with familiar blue eyes.

"Timmy..." whispered Wanda.

"Wow," said Cosmo, "Compared to that other wolf, he's practically tiny!"

Wolf turned around, his muzzle twisting into what might be called a sneer.

"_Timmy?_" he sneered, "_Timothy Turner? As one of us? Well ain't that a thing..._"

"_You know my name?_" quizzed Timmy.

"_Oh, we _all_ know your name, Mr. Turner,_" replied Wolf, "_The Triangle has spoken of you._"

"Triangle?" quizzed Cosmo, "Did this just turn into geometry?"

"_You're supposed to be one of the three who will bring peace to the supernatural fauna_," sneered Wolf, "_You, the Trenchcoat Boy and the Shooting Star._"

He chuckled, looking towards Sandy. She was lying bleeding in the forest soil, Spongebob trying desperately to make a bandage from leaves.

"_That's going _real_ great so far, Turn-_"

He was cut off as Timmy tackled him to the ground, fangs bared and eyes briefly flashing red.

"_GET AWAY FROM MY FRIENDS!_" he thundered.

"Wolf!"

The two wolves looked up.

The grizzled old park ranger was standing over them, holding a shotgun at Wolf's face.

"Full silver slug, Wolf," he declared, "Get outta here before I decide to use it!"

"_I'm not doing anything wrong, Dane,_" sneered Wolf, "_Just out hunting, nothing more..._"

"You killed three park rangers and turned that young lady," snapped Dane, "We had an accord, Wolf! Wildlife only!"

"_Everything changes now, Dane,_" growled Wolf, "_I found Timothy Turner! The end is..._"

"I said get, Wolf!" shouted Dane, pumping his shotgun.

Wolf rolled out from under Timmy's claws, glaring at Dane.

"_When this is done,_" he snarled, "_I'm eating you first, Conlin._"

Wolf slunk away into the darkness.

"Well," said Dane, scratching his chin, "Never seen a werewolf defend fae before. Never thought I would."

"_They're my family,_" snapped Timmy, "_And...and I gotta go before..._"

"Timmy, no!" shouting Wanda, "You are not going to run back into that forest! We don't care if you're a wolf, you are our godson and we love you anyway! Now _sit!_"

"_Yes Wanda_," muttered Timmy, sitting down.

Dane had gone over to Sandy, looking over the wound. He frowned.

"What...what did y'all mean by 'turned?'" asked Sandy, woozily.

"Werewolf bite," replied Dane, "Did he say anything before he bit you?"

"He did," replied Spongebob, "S-something about...about liking her...because she fights..."

"That mangy son-of-a..." muttered Dane.

He lifted up Sandy's arm, staring at the wound.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, darkly, "There's nothing we can do. You'll be one of them come tomorrow night."

"Guys!"

Danny and Sam emerged from the trees, shining a torch in their direction.

"We think Timmy ate a park ranger and..." Danny blurted.

His eyes fell on Sandy, then onto Timmy's wolf form.

"...oh my gosh this is not happening," he muttered.

"It wasn't him," explained Dane, "He tried to save her."

He straightened his hat and turned to face them.

"Dane Conlin, park service," he introduced himself, "We need to get back to the manor so we can talk about this. Let's just say..."

He paused and looked up at the moon.

"...let's just say this just got a lot more complicated..."

* * *

AN: And I left it hanging again! Boy, do I suck at endings! :D


	14. 14 10 14: If The Sock Fits

So yeah, after writing last night's 'shot, I proceeded to start planning out chapters continuing it. So yeah, that might have snowballed into it's own thing. That might happen.

Note for this chapter: all names are pronounced as name of mind-exclamation point-name-of-body. Pronouns relate to current form.

Review replies;

**TweenisodeOrange:** Timmy, Dib and Mabel: Heroes of the Supernatural! :D Thanks for reading!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** It probably will, it probably will. Thanks for reviewing!

**Autobot-Outcast:** I TAKE THAT AS A CHALLENGE, SAH! THIS STORY SHALL BE CONTINUED! Thanks for the review.

* * *

**14/10/14: If The Sock Fits**

"…and then she got out the pitchfork…"

Mabel listened intently as Soos regaled her with the tragic but hilarious tale of his first crush. The noodles Dipper had left were long gone, Mabel having eaten them like popcorn while listening to Soos' story.

"Mabel! Soos!"

Dipper and Wendy ran up to the table. There was a loud bang as Wendy's knee collided with the table leg.

"Aaagh!" she exclaimed, "Why are your legs so long?!"

"Lumberjack genes," replied Dipper.

"Okay," mused Soos, pointing at the pair, "There's something different about you two…I think I got it…twenty questions?"

"Mabel," explained Wendy, leaning over the table, "This is gonna sound crazy, but me and Wendy just swapped bodies!"

There was a long silence.

"You mean _Wendy and I_ swapped bodies," corrected Mabel.

"_Mabel!_"

"Wait-wait-wait," said Soos, "You dudes switched bodies? You mean like that time I was a pig?"

"…yeah, I guess so," shrugged Dipper.

"Well, this is gonna get real confusing," noted Soos.

"Very true, Soos, very true," nodded Mabel, "Okay, from now on, we'll call Dipper-in-Wendy's body Dipper!Wendy, and Wendy-in-Dipper's-body Wendy!Dipper."

"That sounds stupid," grunted Dipper!Wendy.

"Do you have a better idea?" asked Mabel.

"…no."

"Then you are now Dipper!Wendy!" exclaimed Mabel, "Now accept it before I make you Dipendy and Wendipper."

"Yes, Mabel," sighed Dipper!Wendy.

"Guys, we're missing the point here," said Wendy!Dipper, raising his arms in the air, "We need to figure out a way to get back to our normal bodies."

He paused.

"…not a sentence I ever thought I'd say," he noted.

"Hmm," mused Mabel, scratching her chin quizzically, "Retrace your steps. What were you doing before you swapped bodies?"

"We were leaving the no-shoe zone," replied Wendy!Dipper, "I was putting my boots on, there was this static shock and…"

"Wendy! There you are!"

Grunkle Stan marched up to the table, followed closely by Mr. Krabs and Squidward, the latter of the two looking very much like he'd rather be somewhere else.

"Me and Eugene here are joining forces," he explained.

"Arr," nodded Mr. Krabs, "We found a bag of socks mysteriously lying around shortly after ye left, and since ye can always just random junk people left in the corner, we're selling them for twenty-five bucks a pair! We need someone on register to help with the sc-I mean business."

"And since this guy thinks our plan is 'too aggressively stupid to support in any way'," grunted Stan, "We're gonna need you."

"That's an exact quote, by the way," grumbled Squidward.

"But Grunkle Stan!" exclaimed Dipper!Wendy, "I'm not Wendy, I'm Dipper!"

"And I'm not Stanford Pines, I'm Benjamin Harrison," scoffed Stan, "Really, Wendy, you couldn't think of a better excuse? Now come on…"

He grabbed Dipper!Wendy's arm and began to literally drag her away.

"But Grunkle Stan! I'm telling the truth!" she exclaimed, "I'm Dipper! _I'm Dipper! Nnnnooooooooooooooooooooo!"_

She was dragged around the corner, her screams disappearing into the crowd.

There was a very long silence.

"Well," said Spongebob, walking over from his table, "Apparently the no-shoe zone is _really_ unpopular."

"Any of y'all wanna explain what just happened?" asked Sandy.

"Sorry dudes," shrugged Soos, "I'm just as confused as you are."

* * *

"Cindy! Cindy!"

Cindy nearly jumped out of her skin as Danny and Timmy raced up behind her.

"What the heck?!" she spluttered, turning around.

"Cindy!" shouted Timmy, "We need you to distract Jimmy with your feminine wiles!"

Cindy punched him in the face.

"Look," said Danny, ignoring Timmy rolling on the floor clutching his eye, "We may have lost one of Jimmy's inventions, and he may be on to us. We need you to keep him occupied while Timmy and I find out where it went."

"Why should I cover for you?" demanded Cindy, crossing his arms.

"Because if you do, Timmy will shout you at the Candy Bar for a year," replied Danny.

"_I never agreed to that!_" exclaimed Timmy.

"Hmm…I like that idea," nodded Cindy, "You've got yourself a deal, Fenton."

She held out a hand. Danny shook it. Timmy groaned.

* * *

"The journal doesn't say anything about this," grumbled Wendy!Dipper, flipping through the '3' journal, "I don't even know where to look!"

"Well, you said there was a static shock," mused Mabel, scratching her chin, "Maybe it's like that carpet I used to swap bodies with Dipper once."

"Yeah, I remember that!" nodded Soos, "That day was _weird_. Enlightening, though."

"Okay, question," said Sandy, "Is this a normal thing for you fellers?"

"Yeah, this is pretty average, dude," shrugged Soos.

The group, now minus Dipper!Wendy but plus Spongebob and Sandy, were walking around the convention, trying to find a clue as to what had happened.

"But it can't be a carpet, can it?" quizzed Wendy!Dipper, "The whole convention floor's paved."

"Don't worry, Wendy!Dipper," reassured Mabel, "I'm sure if we keep walking around, the answer will come to us…"

"…so Neutron, you made a sock drawer that swaps minds?"

"It's not a sock drawer!"

The group stopped, looking to their left. Jimmy was arguing with Cindy, while behind him, Carl and Sheen leaned against a sock drawer, clearly placing bets on the argument's outcome.

"It's an electromagnetic generator," snapped Jimmy, "The electronic charge pumped into the socks creates a neutron field that swaps the mental processes of two subjects if they wear interlinked pairs of socks!"

"Neutron, that science sounds made up."

"Boy genius, Cindy," said Jimmy, smugly, "Everything I say is scientifically accurate*."

Mabel's eyes widened.

"Oh my gosh," she realised, "I'm a _seer._"

Wendy!Dipper clicked his fingers.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, "I _knew_ these socks were too clean to be Dipper's!"

"Mind-swapping socks?" mused Mabel, "Aw, I was hoping it would be alien parasites. I've never met an alien…"

"Which means if we get a new pair, we can swap back!" realised Wendy!Dipper.

"And Mr. Krabs said he found some socks abandoned on the convention floor," added Sandy, "We can get some off of him!"

"Let's ask him!" exclaimed Spongebob, "I'm sure he'll give us a few pairs!"

There was a long silence.

"…we're pooling our money?" asked Spongebob.

"We're pooling our money," sighed Wendy!Dipper.

* * *

Dipper!Wendy stood at the counter of the Mystery Shack stand, looking down at the register as if it was printed in a foreign language. She had no idea how to operate the thing – thankfully, the convention goers seemed too smart to fall for Stan and Mr. Krabs' scam.

"Ugh," she sighed, "There is no way this can get worse…no, wait, why did I say that, _why did I say that?!_"

"Hey, Wendy."

Dipper!Wendy knew that voice.

_Please don't be that please don't be that _anything_ but that…_

A very familiar lanky, pale teenager walked up to the counter, hands shoved in his pockets.

_It's Robbie. Oh, _why_ did I have to say that?_

"Look, I know you hate me, Wendy," said Robbie, trying to sound apologetic but instead coming out as rather desperate, "I know I did wrong when I stole that song off the web and tried to hypnotise you with its subliminal messages, but that's in the past, right? What do you say we try again?"

He leaned in close, smiling.

"Wendy," he asked, "Will you be my girlfriend again?"

_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!_ Dipper!Wendy mentally screamed.

"Well?" quizzed Robbie, "What do you say?"

_Quick, think of an excuse to get out of here…_

"Robbie, you smell like bad," exclaimed Dipper!Wendy, "Now I need to go dry-clean corn."

She walked very quickly away.

"Dang it, not again," growled Robbie, "What did I do wrong? All I did was try to control her mind! Is that really such a bad thing?"

"Dipper! We've found out how to…"

Robbie turned around. Wendy!Dipper was walking up to the counter – he froze when he saw Robbie.

"Robbie?" he demanded, "Did…did you literally follow me to Portland?!"

Robbie scowled.

"_You_," he snarled, "_You _made Wendy break up with me! Well, you little brat, guess I'm gonna have to break something of yours…"

He leaned down over Wendy!Dipper, cracking his knuckles…

* * *

"Ooh! A small child about to be beaten up!" exclaimed Plankton, excitedly watching from a mouse hole.

He shook his head.

"Eh, I can watch it on the security feed later," he shrugged, "Where's Krabs?"

He looked a little to the right. Mr. Krabs was sorting pairs of socks together, humming a tune to himself.

"Drat!" exclaimed Plankton, "He's mixing up all the pairs!"

He shook his head.

"No matter," he replied, "I just have to use trial and error. Mark my words, Krabs, I'll get into your body eventually…"

He trailed off.

"Oh…_augh_, okay, bad choice of words," he muttered, disgustedly.

* * *

*may not actually be scientifically accurate.

* * *

AN: Robbie, did you ever consider that Wendy broke up with up with you because you're a jerk?


	15. 15 10 14: The Middleman

This is _technically_ part of the Piccadilly Caper, so keep that in mind. Also, a reminder - anyone who's taking part in the contest this year, please send my a link, either over FFN's PMs or via a dA note. Thank you.

Review replies;

**Night-Waker:** There's nothing wrong with that. You might even say that you hope he..._socks him_. *laugh track* Anyway, thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Aye, this is quite the conundrum, isn't it? Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Yeah, I needed to get it done before class. Glad you liked it! Thanks for the review.

* * *

**15/10/14: The Middleman**

Ovard Grim was not, and never had been, a particularly modest man. He was a man of wealth and by jove he liked to flaunt it.

Take his private penthouse in the Docklands area of London. Taking up the entire top floor of the tower (which he owned), it contained a spacious living room, an office overlooking the entire city, a boardroom and a luxury penthouse suite. It was decorated with a variety of exotic artefacts, oddities and pelts from all over the world – Grim claimed the carpet in the boardroom was made from the last yeti.

Tonight, Grim was standing in his office, a glass of red wine in his hand as he looked out over the city of London. He was waiting for a guest.

"Mr. Grim, sir?"

Grim's faithful servant Bob leaned in the door.

"She's here."

"Bring her in, Bob, and get her a glass," ordered Grim.

Bob nodded and backed out the door. In his place walked a familiar woman.

"Madame Athena," nodded Grim, "I suppose for you, this would be the lair of the Minotaur."

"Don't fool yourself, Grim," spat Athena, "You and I both know you're small-time."

Grim raised an eyebrow.

"Small-time?" he repeated, "Like some kind of petty thug? No, I'm not _small-time_, I'm a _middleman_."

Bob returned with another glass of red wine. Athena narrowed her eyes at it.

"It's poison," she grunted.

"That's a damning indictment of the vineyard, wouldn't you say?" retorted Grim, "I assure you, it is clean. I am always happy to help agents of the law."

Athena raised an eyebrow.

"Half of what you do is _illegal_, Grim," she reminded.

"Not according to British law, it isn't," shrugged Grim, "I'll happily admit it's _dishonest_, but it isn't _criminal_."

He crossed his arms.

"You're here about poor Mr. Dooge, I presume?"

"Turner didn't do it," said Athena, "Pines didn't do it. Insano didn't do it. Who does that leave?"

"The rabbit hole runs deep, Madame," replied Grim, "Dooge had far more enemies then those he met on the night of his accident. He was a…_very _controversial man."

"He was an ordinary businessman," said Athena.

"He was the only one who wouldn't sell," said Grim, darkly.

He turned to face the window.

"Edward Dooge was obstinate," he explained, "He refused – _steadfastly_ refused – to see reason."

"In what way?" demanded Athena.

"My benefactor," replied Grim, "Desired a plot of land in the Dorset area that Dooge owned. A small stone circle, believed to have been built by Uther Pendragon. At the centre of it lies a half broken stone…"

"…the Sword in the Stone," realised Athena.

"Minus the sword, but the stone remains valuable," replied Grim, "A single shard of it catches billions on the black market. The whole thing would bankroll a military campaign for twelve months."

"A military campaign," breathed Athena, "…my god, you're working for Galahad, aren't you?"

"Who's to say I'm not under Gawain?" shrugged Grim, "Or even a third party?"

"Galahad is winning," replied Athena, "His armies are better trained, better equipped and better supplied. I'm sure that isn't a coincidence."

"Fine, guilty as charged," shrugged Grim, "Galahad's useful for our people, Madame. He's arrogant, convinced of his own invincibility and won't question where the money comes from. He picks it up from Locker, Locker picks it up from me and I pick up from Arthurian contraband."

"And you were willing to kill Dooge to get more," growled Athena.

"You are very quick to assume my guilt, Athena," said Grim, bluntly, "I can assure you, I did not do it. I have an alibi."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a signed witness statement.

"I was with Gus the whole time," he said, "We were politely discussing his act in Leicester Square. It was quite enlightening, you know. You'll find his signature there."

Athena looked over the document. It had been signed by Grim, Gus and DCI Aldrich.

Her eyes narrowed, and she slammed the paper onto the table.

"You are a liar and a charlatan, Grim," she spat, "You are involved and I will find…"

"_I'm_ a liar, Madame?"

Grim walked slowly around the table, encircling Athena.

"And what about _you_, Madame?" he demanded, "Have _you_ been honest with your associates?"

He smirked as Athena began to turn pale.

"I mean, you took Jasmine under your wing without much deliberation, didn't you? You've trained her, brought her into your trust and made her think you as a friend, as a _mentor_…"

He leaned over Athena's shoulder.

"Does she know what waits at the end of the line?"

He returned to his seat and leaned back.

"You've made cattle of her, Athena," he said, "You've fattened her up for the slaughter and you're not even sorry about it."

He crossed his arms.

"The difference between you and me," sneered Grim, "Is that I _admit_ I'm a sociopathic liar. Do you?"

Athena got up, shaking her head.

"This meeting is over," she snapped, "I will not be lectured by the likes of you."

"Always a pleasure, Madame," smirked Grim, "Come back anytime."

Athena shot him a lewd finger gesture and marched out the door.

Grim snorted and pressed a button on his telephone.

"Director Fenton, its Grim," said Grim, "Athena just came by."

"_Understood, Ovard,_" GiW Director Clarissa Amore-Fenton replied, "_I'm with Locker now. We'll move on Gravity Falls tomorrow morning._"

"Good," nodded Grim, "I'll pass word on to Vladimir. I reckon he'll want to be a part of this…"

* * *

Vlad Masters sat in his office, absently biting the end of his pen as he looked over a bill. Quite suddenly, the phone rang. Absently, he pressed the speaker button.

"Mayor Masters," he replied.

"_Ah, Vladimir, it's Grim_," said Grim, "_I have a proposition for you._"

"What're you offering?" grunted Vlad.

"_I have an ectoranium reserve uncovered by my miners in South Africa,_" replied Grim, "_Do this and it is yours._"

"What do you need?"

"_Go to Oakland – I'll sent the exact address over a secure channel,_" explained Grim, "_My people have two agents in the area – ask for Simon and Diane Pines…_"

* * *

AN: Man, you just can't trust parents and mentors in this HU, can you?


	16. 16 10 14: The Inspection: Inspect Harder

Another sequel - this time, a comedy one.

Review replies;

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Hmm...well, it's a _crisis_ and it's a _crossover..._ :) Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** Yeah, sorry about that - your review didn't come up until after I'd posted the chapter. Really sorry about that. Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Yyyyep. Things are going to get pretty crazy on this end. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**16/10/14: The Inspection II: Inspect Harder**

_Superintendent G Chalmers_

_This is the City Board of Education and Keeping Children off the Streets. Burn this message after reading._

_Your mission, should you choose to accept it (you have no choice), is to supervise the Stanhope Municipal K-12, College, University and DMV Superschool in their valiant but doomed attempt to hold a fete on campus. Expect insanity._

_Be warned – you will be forced to engage in dialogue with the terrible and ruthless subspecies of man known as 'parents and guardians'. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, GIVE THEM REASON TO CONTACT THEIR LAWYERS. WE CANNOT AFFORD ANY MORE MASS LAWSUITS._

_Good luck and on your guard. May the Father of Education guide us._

_Your faithful shadowy overlords,_

_The Board of Education._

_P.S.: Failure to achieve results will not be tolerated. Yes, that is a threat._

* * *

_7.30am – Half an hour until opening._

"Tro-oop! Atten-hut!"

The teachers snapped to attention. The gym teacher – a defrocked US Marine drill instructor – saluted Principal Skinner, who returned it. Superintendent Chalmers pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Thank you, Mr. Harschblou," nodded Skinner, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have before us a fate worse than death – a _fete_. The last school to attempt a fete was destroyed in flames in the process – we will not make the same mistake that Krakatau U did!"

"Seymour, is this _really_ necessary?" asked Chalmers.

"Platoon!" barked Skinner, "Sound off on stations!"

"Crocker! Bag check!"

"Richtofen! Lab displays!"

"Puff! Go-karting!"

"…Seymour, _why_ do we have go-karting? I'm sure that wasn't budgeted…" quizzed Chalmers.

"Lancer! Swap meet!"

"Skulker! Catering!"

"Bickles! …ah, you didn't give me a job…"

"You don't have one, Bickles," reminded Skinner, "Go home."

Bickles walked away, looking at his feet.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Skinner snapped, "In half an hour, a wave of bored pedestrians will come through that door. It is your job to cater for them, to keep them on the premises and above all to _take their money_. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir!" the teachers chorused.

"Excellent," nodded Skinner, "Dismissed."

The teachers cleared off, running for their stations.

"Seymour, must we treat our paying customers like they're Victor Charlie?" grumbled Chalmers.

"No," replied Skinner, "But I find it helps."

* * *

_8.10am – Bag Check Area_

"FAIRY GOD PARENTS!"

Chalmers was beginning to realise that putting Denzel Crocker on bag check was a horrible idea.

The hunchbacked teacher had picked Timmy up by the collar and was attempting to frisk him, under the assumption that the boy was trying to sneak his 'fairies' onto school grounds. He was currently going through his pockets, raving madly.

"Crocker, is this really necessary?" demanded Chalmers.

"Yeah, come on!" exclaimed Timmy, "Do we have to do this every day?"

"You have _FAIRIES_, Turner!" thundered Crocker, "I will find them! _I will find them!_"

"Ah, what's the hold up?"

Fat Tony and his 'associates' were standing in front of the line to get in. All of them were carrying violin cases.

"Oh, sorry," said Crocker, "Go on through."

"Wait a minute," snapped Calamitous, "What's in the violin cases?"

"Typewriters," replied Louie, "_Chicago_ Typewriters."

"Eh, seems legit," shrugged Crocker, "Come on in."

He stepped aside to let the mobsters through.

"Now," growled Crocker, "Back to finding these _FAIRIES!_"

Chalmers buried his head in his hands as Crocker began to rifle through Timmy's bag.

* * *

_9.22am – Science Labs_

"…as you vill see, ladies und gentlemen, I heff trained my minions in ze vays of science," explained Richtofen, leading a tour (which included Skinner and Chalmers) through the lab, "Vy, just last veek, the class finally mastered ze art of engineering crossbreeds."

"Ooh!" said Mrs. Turner, "You mean like labradoodles?"

"Nein," snapped Richtofen, "I mean like cockroachsparrows! …doodles."

He threw a cloth off of a cage. A hideous creature with the head of a cockroach, the body of a sparrow and the horribly oversized tail of a poodle stared out at them from inside, as if every moment of its existence was unimaginable pain. The tour promptly expressed its disgust.

"Holy mother of…"

"That's disgusting!"

"_We were wrong to play God…_"

"I want one!"

Chester jumped out from behind the cage, grinning.

"I made him!" he exclaimed, "Any questions?"

"Yes, a couple," replied Chalmers, "Hold on, I'm going to need to list them…"

He cleared his throat.

"Why? Why? Why, dear sweet Lord, why? Good _God_, why? Why would you even? Why?"

* * *

_10.43am – Go-Karting_

"…well, I must admit, I expected something to have blown up by now," mused Chalmers, as he and Skinner walked over to the go-kart track, "This is going remarkably…"

He trailed off as he reached the smoking crater that had once been the DMV section of the school. It looked like a nuke had gone off – wreckage lay everywhere, and people lay on the ground, writhing in pain. There was a faint scream of 'my leg!'

"_SKI-NEEEEEEEEER!_"

"Buh-but I didn't do this!" exclaimed Skinner.

"Oh, right, sorry," nodded Chalmers, "Force of habit. _PU-UUUUUUF!_"

He paused.

"No, that just doesn't roll off the tongue."

A team of nurses from the psyche ward at the local hospital walked past, wheeling Mrs. Puff away on a stretcher. She was ranting and raving, a crazed look in her eyes.

"I'm telling you!" she exclaimed, "I'm not crazy! That thing is the spawn of evil! Only doom follows in his devilish wake! He's responsible this! Take him away! _Take him away, not me!_"

Skinner and Chalmers looked from her to the remains of the track. Spongebob was sitting in a surprisingly-intact go-kart, looking around as if he'd pulled into the wrong street.

"…did I win?" he asked, innocently.

* * *

_11.02am – Lunch Area_

"I have to admit, Skulker's schlock really grows on you," said Skinner, picking at the vaguely edible mush on his plate.

"Damn it, Seymour," grunted Chalmers, "If the Board find out about what happened to the DMV, Director Vader is going to be _very_ upset."

He clutched his head in anxiety.

"My god, Seymour, he might alter the deal!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, you'll be fine, sir," shrugged Skinner, "The DMV falls under the Department of Motor Vehicles. I'm technically not even allowed to look at their part of the building."

"You'd better be right, Seymour," growled Chalmers, "If I'm going down over that, you're going down with me…"

He crossed his arms.

"We both know that won't happen, sir," said Skinner.

"Yeah, if you've gone _this _long without being fired…" muttered Chalmers.

* * *

_1.20pm – Swap Meet_

"…Seymour, there is a man literally selling wet blankets in here," said Chalmers, "We probably should have done background checks before opening this up."

"Oh, but there's plenty of interesting wares in this place, Superintendent Chalmers," replied Skinner, "We've got broken glass, pre-chewed gum, asbestos bricks…ooh, what's _this?_"

He had stopped in front of a rickety old stall, declaring that it dealt in the Dark Arts. An old, hunchbacked man leant over the counter, smirking ominously at his visitors.

"Ah, a new patron," he noted, "_Excellent._"

"Mr. Burns?" exclaimed Chalmers.

"Yes, I'm indulging in my hobbies," replied Mr. Burns, "Can I interest you gentlemen in a draught of death? Perhaps a tome of peril? Or perhaps even…"

He leant forward, his face cast in shadow for no apparent reason.

"The Tome of Infinite Knowledge and Sorrow?" he asked, mysteriously.

"Uh, sir?" said Smithers, walking into the stall from nowhere much, "We sold the Tome of Infinite Knowledge and Sorrow, it's over there."

Mr. Burns looked over to the left. Ralph was sitting on the grass, reading a creepy book that whispered to him.

"I know all the horrors of the universe now," said Ralph, "_Yaaaay!_"

"…oh," grunted Mr. Burns, "Well, can I at least interest you in this cursed Mauser pistol?"

"How's it cursed?" asked Skinner.

"_It has no bullets_," replied Mr. Burns ominously.

There was a long silence.

"…but all guns have no bullets," replied Skinner, "You have to load them before…"

"_No bullets_," repeated Mr. Burns.

He cackled maniacally as Skinner and Chalmers beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

_3.40pm – Sick Ward_

"I just don't get it," said Chalmers, "How did thirty-five people get injured today? We weren't even doing that much!"

"I told you, Superintendent," replied Skinner, "Fetes are a dangerous business."

Skinner and Chalmers were standing in the sick ward, which looked like a military triage. Thirty-five unfortunate souls lay on the beds, sat in the chairs or had been dumped on the floors. For some reason, the Funeral March was being played over the PA system.

"But seriously!" exclaimed Chalmers, exasperated, "How did this happen? How did you get injured?!"

All of a sudden, the opening notes of _We Are The Champions_ began to play over the PA.

"No! No! Not a song, _not a song!_" exclaimed Chalmers in horror.

"_I tripped on a rug,_" began Tucker, rubbing his bruised leg.

"_And I ate some schlock_," added Milhouse, his face pale and slightly green.

"_I fell off the slide_," said AJ, his arm in a sling.

"_I got hit by a rock_," grunted Mac, nursing a black eye.

"_I faked being sick,_" explained Squidward, "_To escape Spongebob._"

"_I was attacked by a venomous snake_," groaned Carl.

"_And I was robbed!_" sang Frankie.

"_Yes she got robbed, got robbed, got robbed, got robbed, got…_"

"_We are the injured, my friends!_" sang Dani, who's leg was in a cast.

"_...and we'll all regret this in the end!_" added Bart, a massive throbbing blob of slime affixed to his shoulder.

"_We are the injured, we are the injured,_" everyone sang, "_We've no insurance and we are the injured..._"

There was a long pause. Skinner walked to the head of the room.

"Don't you _dare_..." growled Chalmers.

"_Of the Feeeeeetttttteeeee!_" finished Skinner, his voice reaching an amazing crescendo.

There was a long silence. Chalmers' face was turning red.

"...um...maybe we shouldn't have done that," gulped Frankie.

"**_SKI-NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRR!_**"

* * *

AN: Well, that was fun.


	17. 17 10 14: Remy's Ring

I'd like to say this was delayed because something came up, but it's actually delayed because I massively overslept this morning.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** No, sorry, different Richtofen. Yeah, poor Bickles is bad at dreams. Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Mission accomplished! Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Well, glad to see somebody wanted this sequel. :) Thanks for the review!

**Autobot-Outcast:** Tell me about it - all my fetes had were trash-and-treasures. Thanks very much!

* * *

**17/10/14: Remy's Ring**

Everything had waited for this moment.

Remy Buxaplenty walked into the restaurant at the Tang Country Club, a massive and extremely exclusive establishment on the very outskirts of town. He was dressed in his finest – a brand new tailored white tuxedo, brand new bowtie, shoes shined to perfection. He was the very model of a young, affluent, upper-class twit, but his eyes shone with a cunning that set him apart from the pack.

He walked up to the desk, crossing his arms.

"Table," he demanded, curtly.

"Table One, as requested sir," replied the receptionist in a slight Scots brogue, "Ms. Tang awaits you, Master Remy."

Remy nodded and walked away. For a second, he heard the receptionist mutter an untasteful comment about his attitude under her breath, but he ignored it – people like her would be put in their place soon enough.

As he walked into the restaurant, he spared a quick glance at his right hand. A 24-carot gold ring, lined with platinum and with a perfectly cut ruby affixed, sat on his ring finger.

"Do your job well, ring," he whispered, "And we shan't have to worry about a thing."

* * *

There was a loud crash as Timmy's father's car collided with a stop sign outside the grounds of the club. Mr and Mrs. Turner piled out, ignoring the glares of a nearby gamekeeper.

Mr. Turner raced onto the grounds, heading towards the gamekeeper.

"Do you mind, sir?" snapped the gamekeeper, "This is a restricted area..."

"_There's a rabid wolverine on your golf course!_" exclaimed Mr. Turner.

"A rabid what?" exclaimed the gamekeeper.

"A wolverine!" shouted Mrs. Turner, "A big one!"

"Show me," demanded the gamekeeper, "Take me too it!"

The three ran off in the direction of the golf course, the gamekeeper failing to notice a figure slipping out from behind a bush.

"Thanks guys," Timmy whispered, "Now let's get in there..."

* * *

"I must say, Ms. Tang," said Remy, leaning forward onto the table, "It was most generous of you to treat me to a free dinner..."

"It's nothing," replied Trixie, "And please, call me Trixie."

"Very well, Trixie," nodded Remy, "Tell me, what do you want from this life, Trixie?"

"That's kind of a deep question, isn't it Remy?" quizzed Trixie.

"Between friends, few things are too deep," replied Remy.

"Alright," shrugged Trixie, "Fair enough...but how about you first?"

"Me?" said Remy, raising an eyebrow, "What do I want?"

He turned to the window, looking at his reflection in the darkened surface.

"There are a few things I want, Trixie," he explained, "Success, happiness, love, all the usual trappings. But there is one thing I _need._ One person weighs on my mind more than anything."

"A friend?" asked Trixie.

"No," replied Remy, his expression dark, "A foe. A _bitter_ foe."

He clenched his fists.

"All I _need_ from this life is to see him at my feet, utterly defeated," he snarled, "To see him below me, broken and ruined, begging for my mercy. I want to see him _burn_."

Trixie raised an eyebrow somewhat nervously.

"What, did this guy kill your father or something?" she asked.

"You could say something like that," replied Remy, mysteriously.

He turned around, his grim look vanishing as it twisted into a pleasant smile.

"But enough about me," he said, as if nothing had happened, "What about you?"

* * *

"I hate air vents," muttered Timmy.

He was squeezing through a vent that was nearly too small for him, cursing the concept of growth spurts under his breath. This would have been easy about four years ago.

He reached the end of the vent, kicking out the grate and slipping into a storeroom not far from the restaurant. According to the map of the complex in his pocket, all he needed to do now was slip down a small corridor and through a 'staff only' door, and he'd be in.

"So far, so good," he muttered.

He walked out of the storeroom and into the corridor.

" 'Sup, Turner."

Timmy froze.

Francis was standing in front of him – the massive thug still towering over Timmy. He had someone managed to fit himself into a grey suit, and was backed up by two similarly dressed giants. He cracked his knuckles.

"...oh, Francis, it's...it's been so long!" exclaimed Timmy, starting to sweat, "You...you're a security guard now?"

"Nah," replied Francis, "I'm a hired goon. We work for Mr. Remy."

"Oh, th-that's great!" stammered Timmy, "C-cause I need to see him, I got-I got something to tell him, so could you p-possibly bring me to him..."

"Oh yeah," nodded Francis, smirking nastily, "_Certainly_."

He began to advance on Timmy...

* * *

"...sorry Remy, that fish was terrible," grumbled Trixie, "I'll tell my dad to talk to the chef, that was just..."

"It's fine," replied Remy, flashing a winning smile, "Your company makes up for substandard food quality, I assure you."

"Oh, you're sweet," chuckled Trixie, "But I have a question."

"Ask away," nodded Remy.

"Who is your enemy?" asked Trixie, "The one you want to...ah..._burn_. Do I know him."

"Many people do," replied Remy, "He has a habit of going around being a tremendous pain in the..."

"Mr. Remy, sir!"

Francis walked up to him with another goon, dragging a rather dishevelled Timmy Turner in his massive fist.

"I found Turner trying to sneak in through the vent," he explained, "I thought you'd like it if I punched him a few times."

"_Timmy?_" spluttered Trixie, "What are you doing..."

"Ah, Turner, how good of you to join us!" sneered Remy.

Timmy looked up at them, a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

"Remy, you've gotta get rid of the ring!" he exclaimed, "It's cursed!"

"What, this?" Remy pretended to be confused, "Couldn't be, could it? It's just an accessory!"

"Timmy, you _promised_ you wouldn't try to interfere with this," snapped Trixie.

"I mean it, Remy!" shouted Timmy, "It's got a curse! It controls minds! If you don't take it off, you'll turn into a thrall of..."

"Or maybe you're just trying to ruin our date!" interrupted Trixie, standing up as her face turned red, "You told me you were over..."

"_I am over my crush on you!_" thundered Timmy, "I'm just saying that if he doesn't take off the ring, he's gonna turn into a mindless zombie and even _he's_ not a big enough jerk to deserve that!"

"Is that really what you think, Turner?" asked Remy, absently examining his ring, "Are you sure you've done the research properly?"

"...well, my _friends_ did the research," replied Timmy, sheepishly.

"I think you're wrong, Turner," sniffed Remy, "I think it works like _this..._"

He raised his ring to the roof, and suddenly the room was bathed in a red glow. The lights shut off.

Timmy stared in shock as he felt Francis drop him. The sound of whispering and eerie wailing filled the air – Remy began to levitate into the air, his eyes turning a pure, glowing red.

"...what?" he whispered.

"**Do you like it, Turner?**" asked Remy in an echoing voice that sounded like Remy speaking in time with the devil himself, "**I've infinite power in the palm of my hand.**"

Timmy looked around the room. The rest of the staff and patrons – Trixie and Francis included – were standing perfectly still, their eyes glazed over.

"The ring," he realised, "It doesn't control you! You're using it to control them!"

"**And the last horse crosses the finish line!**" exclaimed Remy, extending his arms, "**Of ****_course_**** that's how it works, you idiot! And now, I have total control over everyone in this room...**"

Timmy felt himself yanked upwards by the collar. Francis had grabbed him, the thug smirking wildly.

"**...and I do mean, ****_everyone_****.**"

As Timmy struggled to get free, Trixie walked up to him, grabbing a candle holder from the table as she did so. Her face twisted into a psychotic grin.

"Trixie! Wait! We're fri-"

Trixie swung the candle holder into Timmy's face, smashing into it with a nasty clunk. A tooth went flying, and a nasty bruise appeared on Timmy's cheek.

"**I could have you torn apart by everyone here**," sneered Remy, "**Use them like a pack of dogs! Would you like that, Turner?**"

Francis hurled Timmy into a table, which he smashed through and ended up on the ground. Before he could recover, he was grabbed by the neck by a waiter, who gripped him in a headlock and began to squeeze.

"Remy..." wheezed Timmy, "I thought...we were past this..."

"**Past this?**" growled Remy, "**A Buxaplenty doesn't forget, Turner. I have waited for this moment for ****_years_****, and I intend to ****_savour_**** it.**"

Timmy's face began to turn purple.

"**Do you feel it, Turner?**" snarled Remy, "**The very edge of death? The final pains before the end? The moment of ****_despair_****? Because I am going to make you feel that again, Turner. Again, and again, and again – for the rest of your life.**"

The waiter let go Timmy, dropping him to the ground. Timmy ran for the door, only for Remy to telepathically shut it ahead of him. He slammed into the door, the impact causing several bruises and a nose bleed.

He backed against the wall, his face pale, as the patrons began to advance on him.

"**I am going to make you ****_suffer_****, Timmy,**" declared Remy, "**I am going to take everyone and everything you love and corrupt it in my favour. I am going to break you so hard that when the apocalypse comes – and it is coming ****_very_**** soon – you are going to damn well ****_welcome_**** it. I wish to see you burn, Turner, but first...**"

The door opened.

"**I wish to see you ****_run_****,**" finished Remy, "**Like the ****_coward you are._**"

Timmy ran.

He raced out the door of the restaurant and across the grounds as if he were being chased by the very forces of hell. He ran towards the road – the Turner family car pulled up in front of him, and the door opened.

"Run, Timmy, run!" exclaimed Mr. Turner.

Timmy leapt into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him as the car sped off into the night.

There was a long silence.

"...so, how'd it go?" asked Mrs. Turner.

"Horribly," replied Timmy, "Just...just horribly."

He sat back in his seat and buried his head in his hands.

* * *

AN: This was supposed to be fight scene practice but then basically no fighting happened.

Also, does anybody want me to extend the contest deadline? Because I'm happy to do so.


	18. 18 10 14: SquidRiffs: The Omega Riff

Okay, we've decided. I'm putting the due date back to November 30, due to midterms.

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Yay violence! :D Also, completely understand about midterms. I'm already having some trouble juggling this with schoolwork. Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Wilco. :) Glad that worked - I always find the buildup to scary more scary then the scary itself hashtag weirdly phrased. Thanks for reviewing!

**OddAuthor:** Yeah, Remy needs to seek out a councilor, because he might have issues. Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Indeed! And if nothing else, watching Remy use this power would be fairly interesting. Thanks very much!

* * *

**18/10/14: SquidRiffs: The Next-to-Last Omega Riff**

_Dear fiends,_

_It has struck me today that this might be the last SquidRiff I do for Halloween Unspectacular._

_As a result, I have forced Squidward to read one of the oldest stories in my documents folder, _Phantom Academy, _an unfinished single-chapter story written in early 2009._

_In case this is our last outing, Squidward has asked me to give you his expression of utter contempt towards the lot of you._

_Thank you._

* * *

***sigh* Well, once more unto the breach.**

_To the Observants,_

_Yes, I have noticed that the disease has broken free of Axion Labs __**insert Ebola joke here**__, I know everything. Damon __**why is Damon friends with Clockwork?**__ informs me that all those who have had the chicken pox (of all things) are immune to the bacteria, but that still leaves several thousand new halfas created the world over. __**I'm pretty sure the number of people who haven't had chicken pox is more than a few thousand.**__ I know what will happen in the future, and what you will do, so please stop asking me for a course of action. If you really _must_ contact me, please do it IN PERSON. __**Annoying co-workers? I know the feeling.**_

_Do not write to this address again,_

_Clockwork._

Spongebob Squarepants entered the office of his boss, Eugene Krabs, to find him on the phone. **He's probably explaining his tax fraud again.**

"Chicken Pox, yer say?" asked Mr. Krabs, "Aye, I suppose I'll have to man the register today, anything for a bit of money. Arrarrarrarrarrarr **that is the worst written laugh ever**…Mr Squidward?"

Mr. Krabs hung up the phone, still chuckling. **ILLNESS IS FUNNY**

"What's wrong, Mr. Krabs?" asked Spongebob.

"Squidward got the chicken pox!" replied Mr. Krabs, "Come on, almost everybody gets the chicken pox when they're five, why didn't Squidward?" **Maybe because FISH DON'T GET CHICKEN POX.**

"I didn't get chicken pox," mused Spongebob, "I was supposed to…but fate stood in the way."

Spongebob remembered when he was five. Most of Bikini Bottom's kids had been rounded up in class to get their chicken pox infections nice and early. Spongebob and Patrick had been stuck in a cupboard for fourteen days after an accident playing a game at the time. **In any other fic, Spongebob and Patrick being stuck in the closet for fourteen days would be a lemon. ****_Aaaaand_**** I've just squicked myself.**

"Arr, well, it's not like it'll have life changing consequences, **AM I FORESHADOWING THIS ENOUGH?!**" shrugged Mr. Krabs, "Now get to work!"

"Aye aye, Mr. Krabs!" saluted Spongebob, running for the kitchen.

Mr. Krabs paused for a second.

"That came out strangely direct." **Lame.**

It wasn't long before the Krusty Krab began its breakfast rush, and Spongebob was happily flipping patties on the grill **because he's a ****_fool_**.

"Spongebob!" ordered Mr. Krabs, "One Triple Krabby Patty, extra cheese, no onion or pickles!"

"One Atlantean Manoeuvre, coming up!" **Yeah, that sounds like Spongebob.**

Spongebob liked nicknaming the combinations for the Krabby Patty. **No kidding.**

The 'Atlantean Manoeuvre' had to be made in a special way (in Spongebob's opinion). One had to place the patty on the bun, flip it after thirty-three seconds (both sides) and then use various karate moves to chop, kick and essentially assault the bun, patty and condiments into a single Krabby Patty. **I'm pretty sure that would just destroy the food.**

Today, all of this went well until the whole karate move bit. **I'm surprised this has never gone wrong until now...**

Spongebob jumped into the air and kicked the bottom bun and patty into the right place. As he chopped at the lettuce, however, his hand went right through the vegetable and he slammed into the wall. Rebounding, he slammed face first into the grill. He screamed as he jumped upwards, propelling himself upwards and hitting his head on the roof. Dazed, he slowly drifted to the ground. He tried to reach for the grill, but a small green blast came out of his hand, setting it on fire. **I'm glad we're not beating around the bush with the whole obvious 'everyone gets ghost powers' thing.**

Mr. Krabs slammed into the room, steaming.

"Spongebob!" he yelled, "What in the good name of Poseidon happened here?" **Shenanigans.**

Spongebob shivered, unable to think of a good reply. **He was so terrified he added a space before the first word of the line.**

Mr. Krabs glanced across the kitchen.

"Where'd he go?" he mused. **Why does the idea of invisible Spongebob frighten me so much?**

He growled, muttering as he left the kitchen.

"When I find that boy…" **Are you gonna beat him up? Because I wanna watch.**

Confused, Spongebob looked down at himself. He screamed as he realised he couldn't see his own legs. **Yes, he had become an ordinary kitchen sponge.**

He ran out of the Krusty Krab's back door, and hid behind the dumpster.

Still shuddering, Spongebob looked down at himself. His body shimmered back into view, but it had changed since he had become invisible. **He now had chest hair.** His normally spongy, yellow skin, though still spongy, was now a snow white. He was wearing a black and white HAZMAT suit (A/N: how original) **No, no, we don't do that.** with a white tie, and he had somehow acquired some black-rimmed goggles over his eyes. **How can he see his eyes?**

"Wow, I must've been _really_ sleepy when I got dressed this morning," he mused.

He thought it over.

"Wait a minute," he deducted, "If a strange jumpsuit appears on someone, that means they've been turned into…"

He paused dramatically.

"…A superhero!"** You idiot.** he exclaimed at last, "I've gotta find Patrick!"

He jumped into the sky…and immediately fell back down.

"OK, maybe I need to learn how to use these powers," he wheezed.

Brad Newsworthy stood at his desk at the Global Information Team News station (G.I.T. News). **Boooo...**

"…which has caused zombie communists to invade Peru. **Wait, what?! I wanna see that story! **In other news, the Government has begun to hand out vaccines for a disease released from Amity Park's Axion Labs. **Wait, they made a vaccine in, like, a day?!** The FBI denied claims of 'supernatural powers' given to victims, claiming that the illness causes massive hallucination." **I trust them implicitly.**

Brad shuffled his papers.

"In other news, a Montana dog barks in Morse Code…"

Spongebob threw open Patrick's rock home and gasped.

Patrick lay on the ground, snoring. His skin was a lime green, and he was wearing a long sleeved white shirt, a black tie and brown long pants. **I read that as brown ****_log_**** pants and was very sad.**

He looked strikingly similar to a newspaper journalist. ***sigh* Clark Kent reference.**

Spongebob ran over to the rock-like star and shook him open. Patrick's eye's blinked open, a startling glowing green colour.

"Oh hey, Spongebob," he greeted, "Did you get colourful too?"

"Patrick," said Spongebob, "We've been turned into superheroes!" **Super****_zeroes_****, more like. ****_Heh heh heh..._**

"You mean like Mermaid Man?" asked Patrick.

"Oh yeah," nodded Spongebob.

"Hurray!"

"Let's team up to fight crime!" said Spongebob.

Good to know they thought this over! **Don't interject in the middle of the story.**

The two friends stood up and move their hands to hi-five. Their hands passed through each other and they landed on their faces.

"Hey, wait a minute," mused Spongebob, "All superheroes have a human who knows their identity and helps them out, right?" **Good luck finding a human ****_under the sea_****.**

"Right," nodded Patrick.

There was a short pause.

"To Squidward's House!"

"Go away!"

"To Sandy's House!" **Holy stolen joke, Batman.**

Mr. Lancer threw the report onto Danny's desk, scowling.

"Straight C's in all subject's, Mr. Fenton, I'd expect better of you," he reminded. **But that's a passing grade.**

Danny sighed. Didn't Lancer _know_ he didn't get much chance to…no, wait, he didn't. Sometimes Danny wished he did. **Then just tell him. Lancer's harmless.**

Lancer continued to scowl, but he relented a little bit.

"Mr. Fenton, I know you can improve," he said, "That's why I'm giving you a second chance. You want to be an astronaut, right? I'm going to give you some extra credit work for the test season." **I'm pretty sure this is what they call ****_favouritism._**

Danny groaned inwardly. The test season was already in progress, and he was already behind due to several ghosts.

"If you get a B+ or higher, you will pass all of your subjects with C+'s and B's. If you fail this, your dreams go up in smoke. **So yeah, no pressure. **Do you understand, Mr. Fenton?"

"Yes Mr. Lancer," sighed Danny.

Truth be told, he didn't understand. Why did future jobs depend on grades? Why couldn't you just prove yourself in the job interview? Danny did not know.

"Therefore I will be holding you back after class for two hours every day starting tomorrow." **Is this legal?**

"WHAT?"

Danny looked at Mr. Lancer in utter horror.

"I can't do that, I've got…stuff," he exclaimed.

"Well stuff will have to be cancelled, won't it Mr. Fenton?" Lancer continued, "Your parents have already agreed, you have no prior commitments and you will turn up tomorrow or your dreams will go the same way as the Apollo program." **E3 is suddenly looking very sad.**

Danny looked down.

"Yes sir."

_Amity Park is doomed,_ he thought to himself.

_"…Scientists have confirmed that the illness is highly infectious to all those who have not suffered the chicken pox,"_ Perch Perkins explained, _"Vaccines are now being handed out at the following locations…" _**Wait, is he on the radio? On TV? Explain, fanfic, explain!**

There was a sudden crash, the sound of draining water and a second crash. Sandy turned to find Spongebob and Patrick piled on top of one another.

"Hey Sandy!" they yelled in ustion **nice spelling**, "We're superheroes!"

They climbed onto their feet. Sandy glanced at the HAZMAT suit (and journalist outfit) they were wearing, and the changes in their skin colour.

"Uh, Spongebob," she noted, "Halloween isn't for eight months." **Which, incidentally, means this takes place in March. Why is Casper High having end of year tests now?**

"Oh yeah?" mused Spongebob, raising an eyebrow, "Then watch this!"

Spongebob and Patrick made to hi-five, their hands went through each other and they landed on their faces. Again. **Their pain makes me smile.**

"See?" asked Spongebob, weakly.

Sandy glanced back at the news report.

_"…Government claims of mass hallucination have been slammed by various members of the global community…" _**Which ones?**

"Intangibility…" she mused, "That ain't possible…"

"It is for us!" Patrick cried, "We're…"

He and Spongebob made a pose.

"Superheroes!" they cried.

A new figure was on the TV (which was a battery powered one outside, shaped like a nut (of course)) **well, thanks for finally sharing**, wearing glasses and generally looking intelligent.

_"It is entirely impossible for a person unaffected by a bacteria to share its effects. We have in our midst a new branch of evolution."_

He was quickly dragged off screen by two guys in white tuxedoes. **The GiW – being real subtle since 2004.**

"You guys must've caught this new disease," gasped Sandy, "It must've given you ghost-powers!"

"We're ghosts?" shuddered Patrick.

He and his friend glanced at one another.

"Hurray!" **Yay! They're dead!**

"Wait a minute," realized Sandy, "Didn't _I_ not get the chicken pox?"

She pondered, and her lower half disappeared from view into invisibility. **This should be something you pick up earlier then this.**

"Gah!"

Danny stood in front of the large variety of ghosts he had assembled.

"…so I kinda can't fight any of you right now," he finished, "So can we make a truce for about three to four weeks?" **Insert puppy-dog-eyes here.**

The ghosts looked at each other.

BLAM!

Danny tore himself out of the crater that now existed outside The Ghost Zone Community Centre (yes, it has a Community Centre).** Okay, that was kinda funny.** He sighed, and looked at the building.

"Well, either my dreams are finished, or Amity Park is finished," he sighed, "Why do I always have to make these choices?"** Because with Great Power comes Great Cosmic Horsewhipping.**

"You don't."

Clockwork walked up to Danny, arms crossed.

"Clockwork?" mused Danny, "You can let me go back in time so I can fight ghosts and catch up on work, right? Like they did in that book, whatsitsname…" **Of course! It's Harry Dresden! ...I mean ****_Potter, _****sorry****_._**

"No," replied Clockwork, "Actually, I'm making an academy for people such as you, other halfas." **Halfa school...twice-a school? ****_Heh heh heh heh..._**

"But there's only three of us, isn't there?" mused Danny.

"Not so," corrected Clockwork, "Plasmius, in his infinite wisdom, accidentally unleashed a virus on the good people of Earth. **END STORY. I hope you weren't gripping your seats to find out what happened, because ****_I_**** certainly wasn't!**

* * *

AN: AND THEN SQUIDWARD WAS A HALF-GHOST


	19. 19 10 14: The Great Game

A bigger one tonight, to make up for the fact that I'll need to focus on my report tomorrow, and therefore will probably have to do something small.

Review replies;

**Cartoonatic55:** Heh, not too bad a swansong, then? Thanks for reading!

**OddAuthor:** Indeed! And he'll never leave you alone - he's like a very friendly Terminator. Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Ah, you're just saying that! :) (And you're probably right - there's probably worse I could find). Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Indeed, this probably isn't the last SquidRiffs, just the last HU SquidRiff. MWAHAHAHA... Thanks very much!

**Autobot-Outcast:** To Squidward: DON'T FORGET. YOU'RE HERE FOREVER. XD Thanks!

* * *

**19/10/14: The Great Game**

_EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED._

So read the note that was found in the papers of Sir Francis Walsingham, shortly after his death in 1590. Of course, it wasn't written in clear English – Walsingham was a spymaster and therefore it was devilishly encoded – but the message was there.

His peers paid no heed to it – Walsingham was a mysterious fellow, probably addled in his closeness to death when he wrote it down. If he was even lucid when he wrote it, it probably referred to some political issue with Spain or France. Nothing to worry about.

William Cecil, the first Baron Burghley, disagreed.

Cecil was the chief advisor to Queen Elizabeth the First, and was therefore privy to information the rest of the court missed out. Things like the secret history of England, or the _true_ heritage of the Tudor dynasty, or what had really gone on between the Queen and her 'close friend' Robert Dudley.

If anybody asked, Captain Wilkes was just a faithful guard of the Queen and any talk about his resemblance to his sovereign was naught but fearful gossip. And if anyone suggested that the Tudor line went right back to the mythical Bran the Blessed, well, Cecil couldn't possibly comment on the matter.

In the dead of night, Cecil sent men to rifle through Walsingham's personal files, to find anything that might explain the cryptic note. What they found was a small set of directions – _Tunbridge Wells, dig fourteen feet under old parish, two left, three right, two left again_.

So Cecil's men went to Tunbridge Wells. There they found an old parish, dug fourteen feet underneath, and found what could only be described as an ancient vault, complete with an oak combination lock.

_Two left. Three right. Two left again._

They found the most tremendous archaeological find in the history of Great Britain. It was the grave of Uther Pendragon.

* * *

Excavation of Uther's tomb was a very long time in coming, partially due to lack of funds (England was at war with Spain, and that took priority) and partially due to a desire not to disturb the resting place of a king.

All that changed in 1651.

The English Civil War had just ended – the King was dead, his son was in exile. Britain was ruled by Oliver Cromwell, a man who cared more for results then his position in history. He authorised a secret group to study Uther's tomb.

Thus, the Witchfinder-Generals came into play.

The Witchfinders studied the tomb for many years, even after the return of King Charles II, but their efforts were fruitless. Everything was encoded or cryptic, and the Witchfinders began to suspect that the decoding methods had long since been destroyed. In 1688, they gave up and resealed the tomb, just in case.

With the political tensions of the late 1600s and early 1700s, the tomb was quickly forgotten.

* * *

In the August of 1940, at the height of World War II, a lone Stuka, badly damaged by the RAF and anti-aircraft fire, jettisoned its bombload and fled back to France. The bomb landed on an abandoned parish in Tunbridge Wells – it destroyed the building and unearthed Uther's tomb.

The British Army quickly took possession of the area. A small force headed by Lieutenant General Bernard Law Montgomery arrived in Tunbridge Wells, ostensibly to set up a base to be used in the event of a German invasion. Establishing an underground base at Broadwater Down, the Army began to investigate the tomb. Three hundred years after the Witchfinders came, they had access to much more modern decryption techniques and forensic sciences.

In July 1941, they found a tunnel.

The tunnel led deep down into an ancient, probably prehistoric cavern. There they found crude bronze statues of ancient spearmen, intricate art carved into the walls and a truly massive tomb in the centre – taller than any man, and longer then a bus.

They had found the tomb of Bran the Blessed.

This was massive. This was the oldest record of a king found anywhere in the British Isles, dating back three thousand years. With great difficulty, a tractor was brought into the cavern. On the 13th of July 1941, the lid of the tomb was pulled off.

Bran's body was perfectly preserved. It was if this giant of a man was sleeping – a corporal even prodded him with his bayonet, just to see if he'd wake up.

The ancient king was massive – both in bulk and in height – and his features were covered by a tremendous red beard, which was certainly evidence for his being the ancestor of the red-haired Elizabeth I. A particularly brave archaeologist pulled up an eyelid, revealing them to be a slight green – probably glassed over from an acute case of being dead.

DNA samples were sent to London. While they waited for them to be tested, the personnel at Broadwater Down discussed what to do about this find. Some recommended using it as propaganda. Others believed it should be kept secret until it could be confirmed that this was actually Bran.

The results came back on the 4th of August. The result was highly unexpected.

Bran the Blessed, ancient king of Britain, was not human.

Some had already suspected this, of course ("Did you not see the corpse! It's gigantic, man!"). Others were shocked to their core at the idea of humanity being just one of perhaps many sentient races on Earth. Further, traces of an element that had not yet been discovered were found in the big king's flesh.

Broadwater Down came to three conclusions.

Conclusion A; Under no circumstances is Hitler allowed to know about this. This stays classified at the highest level.

Conclusion B; Any expert we can find who we can confirm does not have fascist or communist sympathies is to be brought to Tunbridge Wells at the earliest opportunity.

Conclusion C; We may have just discovered magic in such a way that it can be added to the periodic table. Go team.

* * *

In 1952, after much in the way of research, the British Army published it's hypothesis on Uther's tomb and Bran the Blessed. It was viewed only by the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, the commanders of the British military and Princess Elizabeth (the King, at this point, was at death's door.)

It read as follows;

_TO: HRH Princess Elizabeth, the Right Hon. Winston Churchill, CIGS Slim, etc, etc._

_Most of what was uncovered by our team onsite is mainly of interest to archaeologists and has no ramifications to the safety of the Realm. They are enclosed on a following document._

_We have cross-referenced our research with the Witchfinders (who are being surprisingly open to us, probably on the assumption that we will be using this data to commit magical genocide) and can confirm that Bran the Blessed was a variety of Sidhe. We cannot confirm his exact allegiance, if any – nor can we tell if he was half-human. We do know that parts of his genetic structure are a DNA match for Elizabeth I. Strangely, we cross-referenced with the FBI and there appears to be a family in California whom also match Elizabeth I – perhaps a secret child with Dudley?_

_We also discovered four tablets in Bran's chamber, which match orbs found under Uther's tomb. They portray globes of the world as it might have been known in the immediate post-Roman period (no America, no Australia, Asia looks completely off and the less said about Africa the better). When we fit the orbs into the tablets, they lit up and reflected lights onto the side of Bran's sarcophagus – it revealed a world map dotted by white, violet and green lights. A sketch is enclosed, but we have worked out that the colours mean Summer Court (seelie), Winter Court (unseelie) and Unaffiliated (no name given). There seem to be large concentrations of Sidhe in Scotland, Wales, the Pacific Northwest and parts of Indochina, with smaller smatterings elsewhere. Strangely, there are none in Ireland – perhaps Cromwell eradicated them?_

_We decoded a few codes along the walls of both tombs, although some are completely indecipherable due either to dead languages or damages. Most appear innocent, but three of them need to be brought to your attention._

_The first states that 'Guinevere is a changeling.' This indicates that there may be a hint of truth to Arthurian myth, although what this code is doing in a tomb for Bran the Blessed is beyond me._

_The second says that 'his legacy will be undone by the truest of all his knights.' No idea what this one means._

_Finally, we have this; 'at World's End, a new story begins.'_

_We'll send anything new your way, but we think the tomb's knowledge has been fully mined._

_Yours,_

_Cpt. Joseph Foster._

Churchill agreed with Captain Foster's sentiment. The research team was closed down. The tomb was sealed for the last time. Any further research would have to be done through other avenues...

* * *

Which leads us to now.

The Fenton RV had pulled up on the side of a dusty back-road in the Oregon wilderness. Danny, Jack and Maddie had walked into the trees, the former carrying a map. Eventually, they reached a large pine tree – the words 'DIG 3FT NW' were carved into the side.

"Well, this is it," shrugged Danny, "Anybody bring a shovel?"

"Didn't think we'd need one," shrugged Jack.

"I did," said Maddie, "Hold on, I'll run back and get it."

"Nah, I'll get it," interrupted Danny, "Left some stuff in the RV anyway."

He walked away before Maddie could reply.

It was not long before he reached the RV, climbing inside and grabbing the shovel and his backpack. He whistled to himself as he headed back for the door and jumped down...at which point a rifle was immediately pointed at him.

"Hands where I can see 'em! Now!"

Danny jumped and turned to face his assailant. The individual – a scruffy looking man in a red coat and black shako – immediately paled and lowered the rifle.

"S-Sir Daniel!" he exclaimed, "M-my apologise, sir, I mean nothing by it, sir, I just thought..."

"...I had no idea 'sir' was in your vocabulary, Dixon."

Danny raised an eyebrow as a sergeant and an officer – both also in redcoats – walked out from behind the RV.

"Let me guess," said Danny, "You guys from Avalon?"

"Loyal servants of Her Majesty Queen Guinevere," nodded the officer, somewhat officiously, "Captain William North – these are Colour Sergeant Thomas Hannigan and Corporal...Dixon."

"My first name is..." began Dixon.

"Nobody cares, Dixon," interrupted Hannigan, "Sir, we're here on the behalf of Sir Lancelot. He needs your help."

Danny raised an eyebrow.

"_Sir Lancelot_ needs _me?_" he replied, "Well, that's new."

"We can't trust anyone at the moment, sir," explained Hannigan, "Everybody has an _angle_ to play these days. You, on the other hand, are a generally good person, and we need people like you now more than ever."

"Quite," nodded North, clearly trying to assert his authority.

"Do I have to go with you?" asked Danny, "Because I'm kinda helping my parents with..."

"You're doing exactly what Lancelot needs you to be doing, sir, don't worry," replied Hannigan, "Get the '4' journal and get to Fort Arthur."

He handed Danny a slip of paper.

"Latitude and longitude is right there," he finished, "We'll be with you soon – there's something we need done first. Good luck, sir."

"Please stop calling me sir," asked Danny.

"Fair enough mate," shrugged Hannigan.

"Danny! Do you have the shovel!" they heard Maddie shout.

"Better get going," nodded Danny, "Tell Lancelot I'm coming."

"Will do," nodded Hannigan.

Danny ran into the trees, shovel in hand.

* * *

The sun had fallen, but Danny and Jack were still digging while Maddie stood guard with a Fenton Bazooka. Much to Danny's annoyance, Jack was singing.

"_Don't need money, don't need fame..._"

"Dad, please stop."

"_Don't need no credit card to ride this train..._"

"I could stop digging. Do you want me to stop digging?"

There was a sudden clunk as Danny's shovel hit something.

Danny and Jack looked at each other.

"_Bingo._"

Jack knelt down, rubbing dust off a chest and pulling it out. He opened the chest, revealing the '4' journal sitting inside.

"We did it," he breathed, "We found it."

Suddenly the woods erupted into light. The three winced – Maddie dropped the Bazooka in shock.

"Ah, Daniel. Thank you for finding this for us."

As Danny's eyes focused in the brightness, he made out the unmistakable outline of Vlad Masters, flanked by Operatives O and K.

"_Vlad_," he snarled.

"Vlad?!" exclaimed Jack.

"I've been handed an opportunity, Jack," replied Vlad, "I'd say there's no hard feelings, but I'm afraid there really are. Clarissa?"

An older woman in a white suit stepped into view. Jack's eyes widened.

"M-mom..."

"I'm sorry, Jackson," said Director Clarissa Amore-Fenton, "This is for the greater good."

"We're wasting time," a man in a golden uniform snapped as he stepped out from behind a tree, "My master wants them at World's End by sundown. ReGenesis isn't going to defeat itself..."

"ReGenesis isn't the enemy!" exclaimed Maddie, "The note said..."

"They won't be going to World's End, Locker," interrupted Director Fenton, "Not until that journal is deciphered."

She crossed her arms.

"We aren't done in Gravity Falls just yet..."

* * *

"Hey, dudes, check it out!"

Dipper walked into the gift shop, finding Soos and Mabel looking out the window on the front door. It was nearing the end of the working day – the time where nothing ever gets done except clock-watching – and with Grunkle Stan off on 'important business', everyone whose name wasn't 'Soos' was just waiting for an excuse to skip work while nobody was looking.

"Is it time to go home?" asked Wendy, looking up from her phone.

"Nah, dude, it's some kinda freaky light show in the woods," replied Soos.

Dipper squeezed in next to Soos, peering out the window. Sure enough, a series of lights shone brightly in the distance, blinking eerily in a building mist.

"What is that?" he asked out loud.

"No idea," replied Mabel, "But I think we got ourselves a _mystery_..."

"That we do, Mabel, that we do," nodded Dipper, "Who wants to go check it out?"

"I dunno, dudes," mused Soos, "We'd have to close the Shack early..."

"...already locked up, come on, let's go find some lights!" exclaimed Wendy, walking to the door.

"But..." began Soos.

It was too late – the twins and Wendy were already out the door.

Soos shrugged, flipped the sign to closed and shut the door, locking it behind him. He stuck up a post-it note – _CLOSED 4 NITE BE BAK 2MORROW._

None of them would return to the Shack for several days...

* * *

AN: WHAT IS WORLD'S END?! WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE FENTONS?! WHY AM I SHOUTING?! FIND OUT ON HU5!


	20. 20 10 14: The Presidents

As requested, here are the men of the USA! :D

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Well, you're reading it now, so stay tuned! :D Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Me too! I don't know what Danny's problem with it is! Also, the redcoats are busy - you'll see why soon. Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I sure hope it is! A lot of people (read; maybe three) seem to be looking forward to it. [PRESSURE INTENSIFIES] Thanks for the review!

**Autobot-Outcast: **Not alternate history. _Secret history_. Thanks very much!

* * *

**20/10/14: The Presidents**

Since time immemorial (read; 1789) the people of America have been periodically given a choice between two men, usually dullards, to run their country. They perform this vote by way of dark magical rituals (read; the Electoral College) before anointing their new leader in a great religious ceremony (read; Inauguration) before being ceremonially skewered by the great scribes of the nation (read; Fox.)

At least, that's the impression I've gotten from my studies.

In the vein of last year's study of British monarchs, today we are going to be looking at the various characters the Americans have deemed worthy of being elected head honcho. Enjoy!

* * *

_George Washington (Independent 1789-1797) – _The first of the Presidents and generally considered to be the father of the United States. Defeated the British Empire (with a little help from France) and became the first President my unanimous vote. Warned against the creation of political parties and was of course immediately heeded WAIT HE'S GONE QUICK LET'S SPLIT INTO POLITICAL PARTIES

_John Adams (Federalist 1797-1801) _– Signed the Alien and Sedition Acts and fought a quasi-war with the French (thanks for the help, mon ami!) Lifelong abolitionist who never bought a slave. Hurray for not being a hypocrite!

_Thomas Jefferson (Democratic-Republican 1801-1809)_ – Abolitionist who owned hundreds of slaves and therefore can categorically be declared a hypocrite (see above). Fought a war with the Barbary Corsairs because really why not? Considered one of the main writers of the Declaration of Independence.

_James Madison (Democratic-Republican 1809-1817)_ – Accidentally the White House is that bad? Invaded Canada over the pretence of British impressment of sailors in the Napoleonic Wars – the US burnt Toronto so the British burnt Washington, but otherwise nothing got done and the whole thing ended up being totally pointless.

_James Monroe (Democratic-Republican 1817-1825) _– Declared the Americas off-limits to the powers of old Europe with the Monroe Doctrine – Britain, still holding Canada and soon to hold the Falklands as well as large smatterings of the Caribbean, presumably had a good laugh about this.

_John Quincy Adams (Democratic-Republican 1825-1829)_ – John Adams' son. Looked a bit like the First Doctor in his old age. Joined all of the parties in his time.

_Andrew Jackson (Democrat 1829-1837)_ – Beloved by the internet for beating up a potential assassin with a cane. This apparently forgives the Trail of Tears, which exiled the Native American peoples across the Mississippi, an act that, more than anything else, served to destroy their way of life. So yeah, _what a badass_.

_Martin van Buren (Democrat 1837-1841) – _He spoke Dutch as a first language. This is literally the only interesting thing about van Buren.

_William Henry Harrison (Whig 1841) – _HE DIED

_John Tyler (Whig/Democrat 1841-1845)_ – Annexed Texas. Otherwise did little but annoy everybody and everything in Washington.

_James K. Polk (Democrat 1845-1849) – _The best president you've never heard of. Fought Mexico to keep hold of Texas and ended up getting the whole Pacific Coast. And then gold got found literally right after the US got it. Yet Polk is forgotten. Huh.

_Zachary Taylor (Whig 1849-1850)_ – Elected for being a war hero and with political beliefs that basically amounted to 'I don't know but my gut says maybe'. In a pivotal time for America, when a decision about the ongoing institution of slavery had to be made, he very unhelpfully died in sixteen months.

_Millard Fillmore (Whig 1850-1853) – _Looked a bit like a fat Alec Baldwin. Decided to deal with the slavery by not dealing with the slavery issue.

_Franklin Pierce (Democrat 1853-1857)_ – Spent his presidency in a drunken haze. Saw abolition as a threat to the union and signed the Fugitive Slave Act.

_James Buchanan (Democrat 1857-1861) _– With the entire South threatening to leave the union, Buchanan decided that this was a problem that needed to quickly and decisively dealt with by a firm policy of doing absolutely nothing whatsoever to prevent a civil war.

_Abraham Lincoln (Republican 1861-65)_ – Came into power right as the South tore itself away from the Union to fight for State's Rights (to keep human beings as slaves). Effectively managed the war, defeated the South – and was shot, not one week after the war ended.

_Andrew Johnson (Republican 1865-1869)_ – Opposed rights to African-Americans and basically tried to scuttle post-war reconstruction from the executive office. As a result, very nearly got impeached.

_Ulysses S Grant (Republican 1869-1877)_ – Great general, not so great President. Administration marred by corruption. Only president to be booked for drunk-driving.

_Rutherford B. Hayes (Republican 1877-1881)_ – Ended reconstruction. Generally a pretty class bloke, but didn't do much.

_James Garfield (Republican 1881)_ – Named a cartoon cat and got shot.

_Chester A. Arthur (Republican 1881-1885)_ – Did civil reform. Not terribly exciting.

_Grover Cleveland (Democrat 1885-1889) _–Considered honest and worked against corruption. On the other hand, supported the Gold Standard and had troubles with strikes.

_Benjamin Harrison (Republican 1889-1893)_ – Uh…um…he created national parks, I guess?

_Grover Cleveland (Democrat 1893-1897)_ \- …and here he is again.

_William McKinley (Republican 1897-1901)_ – Shot by anarchists after successfully waging the Spanish-American War.

_Theodore Roosevelt (Republican 1901-1909)_ – Woo! Bull Moose! Rough Riders! Progressivism! Great White Fleet! The River of _Unquestionable Certainty!_Dude knew judo! Excitement! Roosevelt! …ahem, sorry, I'll calm down now.

_William Howard Taft (Republican 1909-1913) _– Do we remember him because he was the only President to sit on the Supreme Court? No. Do we remember him because he was so fat he got stuck in a bathtub? Yes.

_Woodrow Wilson (Democrat 1913-1921)_ – Created the Federal Reserve, got the USA into World War One, came up with the League of Nations and segregated the US military and political system. That last one brings him down several points.

_Warren G. Harding (Republican 1921-1923)_ – Oversaw the Washington Naval Conference, which limited the US, British and Japanese fleets. Then had to deal with massive corruption and died.

_Calvin Coolidge (Republican 1923-1929)_ – Presided over a period of unprecedented economic boom, which seemed to validate a policy of laissez-faire government. Everyone was rich! What could go wrong!

_Herbert Hoover (Republican 1929-1933)_ – Aw, crap.

_Franklin D. Roosevelt (Democrat 1933-1945)_ – Ran the country forever and ever and ever and ever and ever. Dragged the US out of the Great Depression (after Hoover had done basically nothing about it), before sending massive amounts of money, men and material off to give the Nazis the what for. On the other hand, Japanese-American internment.

_Harry S Truman (Democrat 1945-1953)_ – Dropped the atomic bombs. Was defeated by Dewey in 1948…wait, what? You mean the _Chicago Tribune_ was wrong about that? Who can we trust if we can't trust the newspapers?!

_Dwight D. Eisenhower (Republican 1953-1961)_ – Oversaw the beginning of the Cold War and the onset of the Civil Rights Movement. Warned against the dangers of the military industrial complex on leaving office, and was ignored BECAUSE HE WAS WRONG THIS MESSAGE BROUGHT TO YOU BY GENERIC WEAPONS COMPANY 15.

_John F. Kennedy (Democrat 1961-1963)_ – Managed to not get everybody nuked in the Cuban Missile Crisis, then got shot by a lone gunman in Dallas, igniting eleventy-billion conspiracy theories. I personally blame Gandalf.

_Lyndon B Johnson (Democrat 1963-1969)_ – Did a whole bunch of really good stuff with the Great Society and civil rights, then ruined it all in Vietnam.

_Richard M. Nixon (Republican 1969-1974)_ – Got the USA out of Vietnam and created the EPA. On the other hand, Watergate. You ever been a quitter, Dick?

_Gerald Ford (Republican 1974-1977)_ – Pardoned Nixon. Stated that there was no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe and got roundly mocked.

_Jimmy Carter (Democrat 1977-1981)_ – Generally good, decent human being – and as a result, an utterly awful politician. Brown-outs, Iranian embassies and MAD abundant.

_Ronald Reagan (Republican 1981-1989)_ – Depending on your politics, either One of the Greats or Satan Himself Risen to Drown Us All in Reaganomics. Cold War ended, probably due more to internal collapse of the USSR then anything Reagan did.

_George H.W. Bush (Republican 1989-1993)_ – Read my lips – no more taxes. Except these taxes.

_Bill Clinton (Democrat 1993-2001)_ – Horrified the world with the ground-breaking scandal of a man having sex with a woman.

_George W. Bush (Republican 2001-2009)_ – Shoe ducking champion 2008.

_Barack Obama (Democrat 2009-2014+)_ – Yes we can! Maybe. Possibly.

* * *

AN: I said very little about the last two, because I don't want a flame war.


	21. 21 10 14: The Infernal Machine

RRRRROOOOOBBBBOOOOOTTTTTTSSSSS!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Huh, I didn't know that. Thanks for telling me! Thanks for reading.

**TweenisodeOrange:** And you're right. Benjamin Harrison introduced National Forests. Oops! Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Indeed. For now, I ain't touching that there minefield. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**21/10/14: The Infernal Machine**

_It's gonna be the future soon,  
And I won't always be this way,  
When the things that make me weak and strange  
Get engineered away…_

* * *

_The laughter was the worst part._

_It was everywhere, omnipresent throughout my daily life. I could handle the insults – 'nerd', 'dork', 'geek' and all those insipid little insults – but the laughter _cut_. It cut right into my very being, tearing at my ego, my self-esteem, my pride. And the only advice you ever got for dealing with it was 'just ignore it.'_

_'__Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me' may as well be a maxim for the sheer pigheaded ignorance of mankind._

_I reached my breaking point at age thirteen. I was in the hallway, talking with my good friends Carl and Sheen – pillars of support in an increasingly harsh world. We were discussing (and by discussing, I must honestly say I was talking at them) my ongoing development of a cyber-suit for use in my…extracurricular activities (just a touch of world saving, nothing too unusual). I had, rather stupidly, brought in a thruster from the suit's jetpack to demonstrate to them._

_I activated it, and it promptly detonated. I believe I was blown into the opposing locker, but my memory of the incident is blurred, presumably something to do with the fact that I slammed headfirst into a hard metal object._

_I remember regaining lucidness to the sound of a strange cacophony. As Carl and Sheen helped me to my feet, I began to realise what it was._

_It was _laughter_. Here I was, literally bleeding from the forehead and covered in burns and bruising, and these _dullards_ had the sheer gall to think it was funny._

_That was it. That was the last straw. I walked out of school and never returned._

_For a long time, I mulled over what had happened - what had driven these imbeciles to mock someone who was clearly their better. When I was fifteen, I came to a conclusion – humans were _irrational_. They lacked _order_. They lacked _logic_._

_And I could fix that. I just needed volunteers._

* * *

When Timmy was fifteen, he began to come to the uncomfortable conclusion that Jimmy was going insane.

It was subtle at first – Jimmy would spend long periods in his lab, emerging with dark rimmed eyes and wild hair, another books of notes under his arm. But then he started questioning everyone and everything he met about what made them 'tick' – what they loved, what they hated, why they laughed, why they cried.

When Timmy brought this up one evening while hanging out with some of his friends in his backyard, he met with a decidedly mixed response.

"Genius is the flip side of insanity," shrugged Dani, "He's always been a bit crazy."

"Yeah," admitted Timmy, "But this is a new kind of crazy. This is _creepy _crazy."

"He's just trying to work out how the brain works," said AJ, "It's just harmless neuroscience."

"I dunno, I think I'm with Timmy on this," said Dib, scratching his chin, "Jimmy's always been a mostly mechanical scientist. All this biology stuff sounds kinda freaky coming from him."

"So he has a new interest," shrugged Dipper, "Nothing wrong with that."

Timmy had made to retort, but at that point, Mark Chang had arrived and Dib had begun on one of his many attempts to work out what made his 'freaky alien brain' tick. Jimmy's possible insanity was quickly forgotten.

* * *

_On my sixteenth birthday, I did what nobody else had managed before – I mapped the human brain. This, you'll understand, beat the heck out of everybody else's 'sweet sixteen'._

_Now came the moment of truth – I had the brain, now how could I increase rationality? Biologically it seemed impossible – every time I tried to increase the parts of the brain that dictated logic, the less-rational parts expanded to compensate. All I ended up with was a holographic representation of what looked like a cancerous blob._

_Then, one day in the late summer, it hit me. I was trying to deal with the _organic_, when I should have been working on the _synthetic_._

_My first task, of course, was to ensure that the human consciousness could survive unaltered in an electronic form. I was originally just going to ask Carl if he wanted to be scanned into a robot, but then fate intervened…_

* * *

It was in a hospital in Portland that Timmy came to the sudden, undeniable conclusion that Jimmy had long lost his mind.

The day had started out well – Timmy had slept in and then spent the morning in the company of his god family; today's agenda being 'moon-carting', a sport Cosmo had invented by combining go-karting and Luna Rovers. Stupidity could often be genius in its own right.

He had returned at one to a stream of missed messages. While he had been gone, his friends had had a little visit from one Vlad Masters.

Vlad had never quite gotten over his fall from grace after the Disasteroid incident – some said that his Plasmius side had taken full control of him, and perhaps they were right. In one final, desperate rage against the world, Vlad had gotten it into his head that making a deal with Bill Cipher was a good idea.

It was not.

To cut a very long story short, Danny was going to be in an infirmary for quite some time, Dani was in an only slightly better state, four thousand acres of Oregon wilderness had been burnt down (and central Amity wasn't much better), and basically all of Timmy's friends had injuries of varying severity.

Timmy, naturally, felt utterly horrible.

He arrived in the hospital where his friends had congregated as soon as he could, running into Jimmy, Tucker and Mabel in the Emergency waiting room.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, "We forgot to take the Recaller – god, I am so _stupid…_"

"Timmy, get a hold of yourself," snapped Jimmy, "Regret isn't going to help anybody."

Timmy got the distinct impression that the genius was most put out by his absence.

"There's nothing you could've done," reassured Tucker, "Vlad's bad enough on his own, but Vlad _and _Bill – most of us just got brushed aside."

"But nobody's hurt too bad, right?" exclaimed Timmy.

Mabel looked away from him, and Timmy got the impression that he'd just said the worst thing possible.

"Jimmy, _please_ tell me nobody…"

"Only Vlad," replied Jimmy, far too coldly for Timmy's comfort, "That's what happens when you play with fire. Danny's going to pull through. That just leaves Dipper and Wendy…"

"What happened?" demanded Timmy.

"Bill took control of Vlad," replied Tucker, "So naturally, he went for Dipper first. Blew up the Mystery Shack gift shop to get him. Trouble was, Dipper wasn't alone…heck, Soos was pretty lucky to get out unscathed."

Timmy buried his head in his hands.

"You're literally telling me that all this happened while my back was turned?" he groaned.

"It's not your fault, Timmy," reassured Tucker.

"It _feels_ like it," muttered Timmy.

Jimmy clenched his fists.

"Alright, that does it," he snapped, "No more moping. I'm going to fix this."

He stormed further into the hospital.

"What exactly is he hoping to prove?" demanded Tucker.

"No idea," shrugged Timmy.

He turned to Mabel.

"Mabel, I am so, so sorry about this…"

* * *

_Vlad was an idiot, and it got him killed. Why was he an idiot? Simple. He didn't test his theory – he didn't study Bill before he made a deal with him, and that was his downfall. I, on the other hand, had thoroughly tested my device before using it on human test subjects. Sure, the tests were done on rodents, but still._

_Close study of Dr. Nora Wakeman's blueprints for Jenny revealed the most advanced humanoid android (gynoid? I'd never been good at the terminology for this sort of thing) yet constructed. I improved the plans._

_I added a synthetic skin covering, for a start. What good is a human-robot if it can't blend in?_

_With a combination of these blueprints and x-ray data released to me by the hospital in Portland, I designed the first two examples of what I now call homo mechanicus – the first humans to be converted to entirely synthetic life forms. For this first outing, I left the brain structure exactly as it was – increasing the logic centres would come in later marks._

_I remember being asked if what I was doing was a little bit 'ghoulish'. I have no idea who exactly asked, but I disregarded it._

* * *

It was hard to convince people that Jimmy needed help after he almost literally raised the dead.

Timmy watched in the corner of his lab as Jimmy explained what he had done – he had transferred the minds of Dipper Pines and Wendy Corduroy to synthetic forms, totally identical in function and appearance to their human forms. They were alive – and as a little bonus, functionally immortal. This little act of playing god had made him quite popular.

Meanwhile, Timmy 'I forgot to pick up my phone and all of my friends nearly died' Turner was getting something of the cold shoulder treatment.

Eventually he got sick of all the praise being thrown on Jimmy and went to sit outside, under a tree in Jimmy's backyard. There he waited for it all to end.

"Timmy?"

Timmy looked up. He was rather surprised to find Tucker had followed him out.

"I think you're right about Jimmy," he said.

"Well, at least someone believes me," muttered Timmy.

"Dude, he's started turning people into robots!" exclaimed Tucker, "That's kind of a warning sign!"

"So what do we do about it?" asked Timmy.

"We have to convince everyone else he needs help," replied Tucker, "Since he literally just raised the dead, this might be a bit hard…"

"Oh, _you think?_"

* * *

_By the time I was seventeen, I finally had the respect I deserved. I had raised the dead. I had developed a way to live theoretically indefinitely. I was nearly _God.

_Naturally, Mabel was the first to ask for a conversion, and I was only too happy to do so – same parameters as Dipper, as promised. But she was the last 'baseline' android._

_It was time to improve the human condition. Sure, this would render the Pines' and Wendy obsolete almost immediately, but such was the price of progress._

_It was just a matter of changing around the casing which housed the transferred conscious – more power for rationality, less for superfluous thoughts._

_One by one, my colleagues took me up on my offer of conversion. One by one, homo mechanicus began to grow._

_The only problem was Timmy Turner – still in disgrace after his utter failure to turn up to the battle with Vlad and Bill. He was starting to gather followers, convincing them that I was 'insane' and needed help. Foley joined him first, then Dib (what right does _he_ have to call _me_ mad?), then Dani…_

_I didn't care. I had no idea just how _annoying_ they'd end up being…_

* * *

At nineteen, Timmy had known for some time that Jimmy was insane – but he'd never considered that he might have started to turn _evil_.

It was, in the end, Carl Wheezer who clued him in. He turned up in the dead of night, Sheen in tow, looking distraught. Timmy had taken him up to his room (he still lived with his parents, _joy_) and calmed him down.

"Okay Carl," asked Timmy, "What's going on?"

He glanced over to Sheen.

"And why's Sheen so quiet tonight?"

"Jimmy did something," replied Carl, shaking his head, "Like he did with Dipper but…this is _different_."

"Different?" asked Wanda, "In what way?"

"Isn't Sheen _always_ different?" quizzed Cosmo.

"He doesn't talk anymore," said Carl, "He just…follows Jimmy around. He helps him with his inventions, he helps him lead the team, but…but…"

He sniffled.

"…but he's not _Sheen_ anymore."

"I am Sheen," interrupted Sheen, his voice a hollow monotone, "I am simply a _refined_ Sheen. I am an _improved _Sheen. I am _better._"

Timmy shuddered, as if a cold breeze had just blown through the room.

"That's just wrong," gulped Wanda, "It's just…_wrong._"

"Jimmy wouldn't do this," snapped Timmy, "This…this is practically a lobotomy! Even if he's insane, he's not…"

"He calls it 'being more rational'," explained Carl, "He says he's making people more…logical.'"

Timmy shook his head.

"We have to stop him."

* * *

_Carl. My oldest and truest friend had sold me out._

_The betrayal shook me to my very core. If my father had turned out to be selling my inventions to the Guys in White in exchange for them assassinating me, it would not have felt so bad._

Carl.

_That was it. That was my revelation. Humanity was a vile, base race that needed to be superseded by homo mechanicus. It was our evolutionary imperative. I had to lead the coming revolution._

_I had to end the human race._

_…__Carl._

* * *

Timmy was twenty when he realised Jimmy couldn't be saved.

It had been a while in coming. Timmy had developed what he called the 'Jimmy Intervention Force' – a team consisting of himself, Carl, Tucker, Dani, Dib, Jenny and – irony of ironies – the Pines and Wendy, who had realised their 'saviour' was hardly being altruistic.

They had entered Jimmy's lab by way of Carl's useful if creepy bag of Jimmy's hair. They had descended deep into the labyrinth of machinery, finding that the walls were lined with massive wires and valves.

Eventually, they found Jimmy.

He was standing, arms crossed, in front of a small platoon of homo mechanicus, most of whom Timmy knew – AJ, Chester, Tak, Patrick, Sheen, Libby, even randoms from Retroville like Nick Dean and Butch. All were armed with what looked like pulse rifles – all were aiming at the intruders.

"Hello, Turner," sneered Jimmy in a tone that sounded just a little too much like Crocker, "We've been expecting you."

"Jimmy," breathed Timmy, "Why?"

"Progress, my friend, progress," replied Jimmy, "Progress you will soon be joining."

A light turned on. Jimmy and his minions were standing in front of a machine, shaped disturbingly like a heart, with two chambers attached to each side – one marked 'man', the other 'machine.'

"So," said Jimmy, "Who first?"

* * *

_It's gonna be the future soon,  
I've never seen it quite so clear,  
When my heart is breaking I can close my eyes  
and it's already here._

* * *

AN: BLASMIUS

Yeah, made it up as I went along. Hopefully it doesn't suck.


	22. 22 10 14: The Other Sock Drops

I'm not 100% happy with this, but I think it works well enough. Sorry it's late.

Review replies;

**Slade Malcolm:** Glad you liked it! Thanks for reading.

**TweenisodeOrange:** YES, THOU MUST DRAW BLASMIUS! I imagine Stan's fine - he was probably out scamming rubes. Thanks for the review!

**OddAuthor:** Everyone who thinks they're a god is frightening. Unless they're _biotic_ gods, in which case they are hilarious. Thanks for reviewing!

**Night-Waker:** I do so love to creep people out...:D Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Phew, glad it ended up working. :) Thanks!

* * *

**22/10/14: The Other Sock Drops**

"Alright, Spongebob, I can give ye an employee discount," nodded Mr. Krabs, "Fifty bucks."

"But you're selling them for forty bucks!" exclaimed Sandy.

"I know, so generous," said Spongebob, smiling as he handed over the money, "Thanks, Mr. Krabs!"

He grabbed the socks from his boss and handed them to Mabel.

"Alright!" she exclaimed, "Now we just have to..."

_Thwack._

The group turned. Robbie had picked up Wendy!Dipper by the collar and forced him against a wall.

"Well, didn't need that," muttered Soos.

Robbie leaned in close to Wendy!Dipper, his teeth bared.

"I'm gonna give you one more chance, you little runt," he snarled, "Stay away from Wendy or I'm gonna..."

"That...that's kind of _impossible_, Robbie," breathed Wendy!Dipper.

"Then _make it possible_," snapped Robbie.

"Okay, I'm missing something," said Sandy, titling her head in confusion, "What is this? Is that some kind of Goth Squidward?"

"That's Wendy's ex, dude," replied Soos, "I think he's blaming Dipper for breaking them up."

"And he sees Dipper as a threat," added Mabel.

"Okay, so he's _pathetic_," nodded Sandy, "What do we do about him?"

"Is Robbie gone yet? Because if he flirts with me again I'm going to scream and run..."

Dipper!Wendy had emerged from her hiding place. She trailed off as she saw what was happening.

"...please tell me he isn't," Dipper!Wendy gulped.

"Sorry, dude," replied Soos, "He is."

Suddenly, Robbie raised a fist. Apparently Wendy!Dipper hadn't answered his request.

"You've got thirty seconds," he snarled, "Tell me you'll stay away from her."

Dipper!Wendy winced...then she clenched her fists.

"That's it," she snapped, "I have to stop him."

She stormed towards Robbie.

"...well, this could end badly," said Spongebob.

* * *

"Why are there so many socks?" demanded Timmy, "We only needed two pairs!"

Timmy and Danny had reached the massive pile of socks that Mr. Krabs had gathered. Timmy was desperately looking for the missing pair – which was hard, as they all looked basically the same.

"That's actually a pretty good question," mused Danny, "I'm sure he only lost the one set..."

"Then how can we tell which set is which?!" exclaimed Timmy, "They could all be mixed up!"

"Because the sets are all bound together?" replied Danny.

Indeed, each set of two pairs was bound together by a rubber band.

"Oh," nodded Timmy.

He chuckled.

"Wouldn't it have been funny," he began, "If we couldn't find which pair was which, and we ended up, like, swapping bodies randomly until we found the right one?"

"Heh, yeah," nodded Danny, "That would have been endlessly comic."

He looked over the pile.

"So how much does Mr. Krabs want for these?" he asked.

"Forty bucks each," replied Timmy.

"I'll get my card," sighed Danny.

* * *

"Time's running out," growled Robbie, pretending to look at his watch, "Give me an answer."

Wendy!Dipper looked down at Robbie. The teenager's pale face was turning red, and he looked like he was about to have an ulcer.

"You wanna know why I-Wendy broke up with you, Robbie?" he said, somewhat wheezily due to Robbie's hold on his throat, "It's because you're a arrogant, self-centred _jerk_ who considers m-Wendy to be _yours_ and feels jealous of a _twelve year old_. You're pathetic, Robbie."

Robbie scowled and drew back his fist, preparing to punch.

"Oh, and one upside to having short legs?" added Wendy!Dipper, "I can do _this_."

He kicked Robbie in the face.

Robbie cried out in pain and clutched his eye, dropping Wendy!Dipper to the ground. He turned around...and immediately found himself looking Dipper!Wendy in the eye.

"Wendy?!" spluttered Robbie, "I-I can explain?!"

"Robbie," snarled Dipper!Wendy, "If you _ever_ touch her again, I am going to make you regret it for the rest of your life."

"Okay, fine, please don't hit me..."

"I'm not gonna hit you, Robbie," growled Dipper!Wendy, "I'm gonna sic Mabel on you. And that's _much worse._"

As if on cue, Mabel emerged from behind Dipper!Wendy. She smirked at Robbie.

"So," she asked, "What were you doing with my bro?"

Robbie ran for his life, pushing past Soos, Spongebob, Sandy and a security guard as they came the other way.

"Did...did you handle it, dudes?" asked Soos, "Because we found a security guard."

"If you want, I make sure he doesn't come back," offered the guard, drawing his nightstick, "I can go for the crotch."

"Uh...yeah, we won't need that officer, thanks," nodded Wendy!Dipper.

"Alright, fine," shrugged the guard, "I'll just have to find someone else to use this on..."

He walked away, dejectedly.

"Wendy, I-I am so sorry about that," sighed Dipper!Wendy, "I didn't think he'd..."

"Don't worry about it, dude," replied Wendy!Dipper, putting a hand on Dipper!Wendy's shoulder (with some difficulty – Dipper!Wendy had to lean down), "Robbie's sad enough to follow me to Portland. That's not your fault. Besides, telling Robbie off actually felt really good..."

"...yeah, except that he thinks _I_ said it," muttered Dipper!Wendy.

"So? He thinks _I_ threatened to send Mabel after him," shrugged Wendy!Dipper, "Who cares what he thinks, as long as he heard it. Maybe now he'll think before going after my best friend."

"B-best friend?" repeated Dipper!Wendy.

At that moment, Timmy and Danny walked up, a wheelbarrow full of socks in front of them.

"Hey, Spongebob, hate to interrupt whatever this is," said Timmy, "But have you seen a couple of pairs of socks? We're lost them and Jimmy's pretty eager to get them back."

"...wait a minute," realised Dipper!Wendy, looking down at her feet, "Were those _yours?!_"

"Well, not really ours," shrugged Danny, "But we put them on a random shelf to hide them and..."

He trailed off.

"...they actually work, don't they?" said Timmy.

"Yep," nodded Sandy.

"Are we in trouble?" gulped Danny.

"Yep."

* * *

Plankton was now in the vents, looking down over the Mystery Shack stall. Mr. Krabs was below him, putting on the last pair of socks he still had. Funnily enough, this pair had literally fallen from the vents towards him – but Mr. Krabs was never one to look a freebie in the mouth.

Plankton grinned nastily as Mr. Krabs finished putting on the pair.

"Excellent," he sneered in a very Mr. Burns fashion, "Finally, the formula is _mine!_"

He grabbed a sock and tried to fit it over his tiny foot.

He froze as he realised it didn't fit.

There was a very long silence.

"...I really should have seen this coming," he muttered.

He blinked.

"_CURSE YOU, SCAAAAAAAALE!_" he thundered, throwing the socks out of the vent.

They landed on Stan's fez as he walked underneath. He pulled them off of his head and examined them.

"Hmm...seems legit!" he exclaimed, "Time to go put these on!"

* * *

"...here you go," said Danny, wearily handing the wheelbarrow to Jimmy, "All for your sock drawer."

"_It's not a sock drawer!_" snapped Jimmy, "But thanks for that. Still don't know who took the rest of the socks, but..."

He trailed off and inspected the duo closely.

"Why do you have a black eye?" he asked Timmy.

"Shenanigans," replied Timmy.

"Shenanigans, you say?" quizzed Cindy, walking up to them, "Must be a funny story behind that, huh? Anyway, I was just starting to feel kinda hungry, and I thought..."

"...I hate my life," muttered Timmy.

Not far away, the Mystery Shack crew, Spongebob and Sandy were sitting on a bench, taking stock of the day's events.

"Never thought I'd be happy to be short again," said Dipper, looking over his noodley little arms, "No offence, Wendy, but I kept tripping over your legs."

"None taken, man," shrugged Wendy, "I've had practice. And I gotta admit, I do _not_ miss being short."

"Well, that turned out pretty well," declared Mabel, "Dipper and Wendy got their bodies back, we made some new friends and a jerk got kicked in the face."

She put an arm around Dipper's shoulder.

"Not a bad day, huh Broseph?"

"I can't help but feel we're forgetting something," mused Spongebob.

There was a long silence.

"Nah, dude, pretty sure everything wrapped itself up," shrugged Soos.

"Yeah, probably."

* * *

AN: There _was_ going to be a bodyswap fight, but I decided that would be too close to _Carpet Diem_. And also I ran out of time.


	23. 23 10 14: Look Down

This wasn't supposed to be the OC-Happy-Funtime-Hour, but it ended up so. I'm sorry, but it's better to get some of this plot stuff out of the way - besides, the only OCs here you really need to care about are North, Hannigan and...well, you'll know them when you see them.

Bonus points to anyone who can pick out the Sharpe references!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Nah, pretty sure everything wrapped up. =P Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** I'm not going to lie - I _really_ enjoyed giving Robbie the what-for. :D Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** There was only one way the Plankton subplot was going to end. :P Thanks for the review!

* * *

**23/10/14: Look Down**

There were very few words on this Earth that Colour Sergeant Thomas Hannigan disliked more than 'recon.' As he sat in the boat, gazing towards the ugly rocky crag they called 'World's End', he wondered who he'd annoyed to end up with this job. To top it all off, it was starting to rain.

The small team in the landing boat was handpicked. Lead by Captain North, it consisted of a handful of the Coldstream Guards, four green-jacketed riflemen and a few sailors picked for their aim. Their mission was to land on a secluded part of the island, trek inland, find out what Galahad was up to and then get out again, hopefully without firing a shot.

"S-so this is going to be simple, right?" quizzed a very young naval officer, nervously fiddling with a pistol.

"Nothing's ever simple, Midshipman Goldington," replied North, "But stay quiet and do as I do, and you shall be alright."

"Y-yes sir," replied Goldington.

There was a thud as the boat hit the rocky beach. Goldington squealed as he lost his footing, falling face-first into the surf. There was a loud bang as his gun went off.

"_Jesus!_" exclaimed Corporal Dixon.

"Yeah, alert the whole bleeding island, why don't you?" snapped one of the riflemen.

"Dixon, Cooper!" hissed Hannigan, "Stow it! Shouting at him isn't going to help."

He climbed out of the boat and pulled Goldington to his feet.

"I'm sorry sir, my finger slipped, it was an accident!" exclaimed Goldington.

"Your finger shouldn't have been on the trigger in the first place, sir," muttered Hannigan.

North followed Hannigan out of the boat. He held out his hand.

"Your weapon, Mr. Goldington," he demanded.

Goldington sheepishly handed the pistol over. North quickly emptied it and handed it to a guardsman, who shoved it in his pack.

"You can have it back at the end of the day," said North, somewhat haughtily, "Mr. Goldington, guard the boat. Corporal Brahe, you'll stay with him."

"Sah!" exclaimed a guardsman, saluting.

North returned the gesture and motioned for the rest of the troops to follow him.

* * *

Galahad's men called it 'Port Botany.' In reality, it was a small, desolate inlet between two cliffs, just large enough to dock the small collier ships that sailed to and from World's End.

The majority of Galahad's army would never see Port Botany. They were too busy besieging Camelot, currently held by Sir Gawain but on the verge of falling. The garrison of Port Botany – and indeed the entirety of World's End – consisted of what Galahad called the Arthurian Guard. These men wore golden tunics and spiked leather helmets (not unlike Prussian spiked helmets of old). They were hand-picked for their loyalty and for their battlefield prowess. They were Galahad's elite.

The sheer number of them milling around Port Botany was enough to unnerve Hannigan as he and North observed them from behind a rock on the cliffs above.

"Why so many?" whispered North, "And why here? There's nothing but rocky crag."

"They're up to something," replied Hannigan, warily, "I reckon we should head inland, see what they're doing over the rise."

"Hold on, Colour," hissed North, "I see somebody down there."

He lifted his spyglass to his eye. His jaw dropped.

"Sir?" quizzed Hannigan.

"That…_that's ReGenesis._"

"What?!"

Sure enough, ReGenesis was pacing along the pier.

* * *

ReGenesis had once possessed the body of an alternate Dib Membrane, but those days were long past. He had found a new body in the form of a young firebrand in Major Locker's intelligence network, a man ambitious and stupid enough to make a deal with what was essentially a force of darkness.

ReGenesis was also much weaker than he had been. The force that had once laid waste to the Earth was now barely a spark, enough to give even a skilled mage pause but far from an apocalyptic threat.

It pained him to have to deal with scum like Grim and Locker, but it was necessary for his plans.

He closed his eyes and stopped for a moment, letting the rain wash over him.

_It always rains…_

"Sir!"

ReGenesis opened his eyes. An Arthurian Guard officer was standing in front of him, saluting. ReGenesis nodded curtly.

"Galahad wishes to speak to you, sir," the officer told him, "Gawain has fled Camelot – it will fall before tomorrow. He wants to talk strategy."

"I will be with him soon," replied ReGenesis, "There is somebody I wish to hunt down first."

"Of course, sir," nodded the officer, turning and running back down the pier.

ReGenesis turned to the empty air to the left of him.

"Daniel, please bring the Governor and James to Galahad's command post," he asked, "I need to…put _pressure_ on our _benefactor_."

The form of Dan Phantom shimmered out of invisibility.

"Pressure, huh?" he quizzed, eyebrow raising, "I like the sound of that…"

* * *

"ReGenesis _and_ Phantom?" said North, "Well, that's our work cut out for us."

"Sir!" a voice hissed.

The two men turned. A rifleman had run down the uneven track behind them and was now urgently signalling them to follow.

"Problem, Rifleman Hagman?" quizzed North.

"I think you'll need to see this, sir," replied Hagman, "It's not good."

"How not good are we thinking, Hagman?" asked Hannigan, warily.

"Very."

* * *

The rest of the squad was lying in wait over the side of a cliff, silently looking into the cliff below. Corporal Dixon was gazing through a spyglass, his face grim.

Quietly, Hannigan, North and Hagman reached them, taking places beside the Corporal.

"What's going on, Dix?" quizzed Hannigan.

"Well, let me put it this way," replied Dixon, "You ever seen Les Miserables, Colour?"

"Yeah, why?" asked Hannigan.

"Look down," said Dixon, simply.

Hannigan did. His face paled.

He was looking down at a mining operation, massive in scale. Tunnels had been bored into the cliff-face – trucks full of minerals were being dragged along the rails out of them. The minerals were then being piled into railway wagons to be taken by winch down to Port Botany.

The workforce were clad in rags and covered in cuts, sweat and bruises. They were bound together in chain gangs, overseen by men and women in heavy coats and top hats. All of these overseers carried whips, and at least one of them was using it quite liberally (perhaps to punctuate his constant cries of 'put yer backs into it!')

There were signs nailed into the ground across the site – they said things like 'The injured will not be fed,' and 'Nobody is coming for you. You are here until you die.'

"My god," whispered North, "Its bloody chattel slavery down there."

"What are they even doing here?" demanded Hannigan, "There's nothing to mine but rock!"

"Reckon Galahad knows something we don't," mused Dixon.

"Is anybody else really troubled by this?" blurted Hannigan, "This is _Sir Galahad_ we're talking about! The greatest, most virtuous of all the Knights of the Round Table, and here he is using forced labour to do…god knows what! It doesn't make sense!"

"He who fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster," recited a rifleman, "And the when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares into you."

"That Voltaire, Harris?" asked Dixon.

"Nietzsche," replied Harris.

"All the same to me," shrugged Dixon.

"You're saying that Galahad, in his attempt to restore what he thinks is the rightful state of things in Avalon, has convinced himself this is justified?" quizzed Hannigan.

"It would seem so," nodded Harris.

"That's a load of crap," scoffed Dixon, "I mean, what sane rational human being looks at the concept of _slavery_ and says 'yep, that looks like a good, moral thing for me to do'? Sorry mate, I just can't get my head around that."

"Good," whispered Hannigan.

"Well, we're going to have to report this," grunted North, "We'll head back to the boat and report straight to Lancelot. We may end up going in for real before the week is up…"

Suddenly there was a very loud bang which shook the earth around them. A bright red flare rocketed into the sky.

"What in the name of?!" exclaimed Dixon.

"_Goldington_," growled North.

"Oi!" a voice cried from below, "Who goes there?!"

"Run?" quizzed Dixon.

"Run," nodded Hannigan.

The squad got to their feet and made a break for it.

* * *

Goldington clutched his hair as he paced in front of the boat, the soldiers left with him staring at him in utter disbelief. Corporal Brahe, for his part, had completely forgotten the chain of command and was going off at the poor young officer.

"How?!" Brahe spluttered, "How do you _accidentally_ fire a _flare_?!"

"I didn't know what it was!" exclaimed Goldington, "I was just trying to light a fire. I-I was cold!"

"_You were cold?!_" repeated Brahe, staring at Goldington as if he'd grown a second head, "_You were __**cold?!**_How in god's name did you pass officer's training? Was your dad an admiral? I bet your dad was an admiral, wasn't he?"

"_Get the bloody boat ready!_"

North, Hannigan and their squad had run onto the beach, a detachment of the Arthurian Guards on their tail. A few guardsman paused, turned around and fired into their pursuers – they then fell back, another couple of men firing to cover them.

"Fire and retreat, men, don't let them get to the boat!" thundered North.

"Well, now look what you've done," snarled Brahe, "Now make yourself useful and get that boat ready, before we all get sh-"

There was a crack, a flash of red. Brahe fell into the surf, a hole in the right side of his head.

Goldington paled, staggering back and falling into the boat.

North looked back – his eyes narrowed as he realised the only other officer in his group was sitting in the boat vomiting his guts out. He muttered under his breath – it sounded like 'useless' – and turned to Hannigan.

"Get that boat out of here!" he barked, "Carter! Godfrey! On me!"

"Sir, if you…"

"That was an order, Colour!" snarled North, "Go!"

Hannigan nodded and ran back to the boat. Behind him, North took position with two other guardsman, opening fire on the pursuing gold-coats.

Hannigan reached the boat as the rest of the men were piling in. He, Dixon, Cooper and Hagman took hold of the sides of the boat and started to push, heaving the boat into the surf. Once it was buoyant, they jumped in.

"Row, dammit, row!" thundered Hannigan, drawing a pistol and firing back towards the gold-coats.

"But Captain North…" once of the sailors protested.

"He said _row_, damn you!" thundered Dixon.

The sailors began to row, bringing the boat out to sea.

* * *

There was another crack, and Guardsman Carter fell. Next to him, Guardsman Godfrey had already been downed, and was now bleeding into the rocky beach. North had been hit in the shoulder, but he'd simply swapped hands and continued firing with his pistol.

He didn't see the gold-coat that finally got him. He simply felt the sharp sting in his leg before falling to the ground. He lost hold of his pistol – before he knew quite what had happened, he found himself looking up at a bayonet.

"Sir! We've got a live one!" the man with the bayonet cried.

There was the sound of heavy boots on loose rocks, and then _he_ was there.

The man was massive, clad in gold-coloured plate mail armour. His face was covered by a long, brown beard – his eyes were small and a striking blue.

"…Sir Galahad," whispered North, "I had hoped it wouldn't be so."

"I do wish Lancelot hadn't gotten you involved," lamented Galahad, "A stand like that is testament to a fine man, you know."

He leant down.

"I am inclined to show leniency to an officer," he offered, "What do you say? There's always a place for gentlemen like you at my side!"

North narrowed his eyes.

"I'd rather die like a common private then assist in your…_barbarity_," he spat.

"Very well…_private_," nodded Galahad.

He nodded to the man with the bayonet.

There was a sharp pain in his heart, then nothing.

* * *

Out at sea, the remains of North's team were rowing back to a frigate just out of sight of the island. The atmosphere was tense – nobody spoke.

"Alright," declared Dixon, finally, "Let's have a vote. Who's up for throwing Goldington over the side?"

"Stow it, Dixon," snapped Hannigan.

"Stow it?" snapped Dixon, "Tom, he just got Captain North killed! One of our own, dead, because he's too bloody incompetent to…"

"Dixon, this isn't the time!" shouted Hannigan, "And really, do you think North would want us to _murder an officer in his name?!_"

"He's not an officer," spat Dixon, "He's a god damn fool."

Goldington said nothing. He simply stared into space, his face still white.

Several very uncomfortable minutes later, they reached the ship. Hannigan climbed up the side first – he stepped over the railing and snapped to attention.

"Well, Tom?" quizzed Sir Lancelot, "What happened?"

"Everything just changed, sir," replied Hannigan.

"Indeed it did," nodded Lancelot, "And not just on your end. Grim just left Heathrow – I think he's heading here."

* * *

AN: Okay, I'm making a vow, the next one will have no OCs...more then is absolutely necessary.


	24. 24 10 14: Conquestio De Re Fiddley

We stand on the precipice of the end - we've only got one more unconnected comedy shot left (and one of you already knows what it is). So I thought I'd take this opportunity to say goodbye to an icon. A moment's silence, if you please...

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** To be fair, Goldington wasn't a particularly commanding presence. Thanks for reading!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Precisely, they are. And it's all downhill from here. ;) Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55:** It's my last chance to dark this one the heck up, and dark it shall! :D (Incidentally, what podcast is it?) Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** That we did, and we shall have more of him! Thanks very much.

**Night-Waker:** Yeah, but hopefully the ending will be satisfying enough. And wow, not a lot of sympathy for Robbie around here, is there? =P Thanks!

* * *

**24/10/14: Conquestio De Re Fiddley**

The burial site was a small patch of empty land – on the moon.

"Sandy, why are we on the moon?" asked Spongebob, as if this thought had only struck him.

"Don't wanna risk someone digging this up and fixing it," replied Sandy, "It's caused enough trouble – time to let it go."

Spongebob nodded sadly.

"One more thing," he added, "How come we're on the moon and yet we don't need spacesuits?"

"Don't question it," replied Sandy.

Few people had turned up to the Fiddley Thing's funeral. Neither Insano nor Danny were answering their phones and half of their friends seemed to have vanished off the face of the Earth (even Jimmy wasn't picking up – must have been busy), and at least one of the rest was on vacation.

So, the small funeral party consisted of Squidward (who had been forced to come), Dani, Ember and a certain Bus Driver, who looked very happy. They had roped Mr. Lancer in to be the priest.

"Dearly departed," Mr Lancer began, standing in front of a small box containing the wreckage of the Fiddley Thing, "We are gathered here today to commemorate this machine thing I never had anything to do with...blah, blah, blah, etcetera etcetera, does anybody have anything to say?"

Squidward stepped forward first.

"This thing caused nothing but trouble," he stated, "But now it's gone. So I'm happy."

He stepped back again, crossing his arms.

Dani stepped forward next.

"I'm going to miss this thing," she sighed, "Sure, it basically caused nothing but chaos, but it was a _funny_ kind of chaos..."

* * *

_Danny was sitting in the Nasty Burger, a laptop in front of him. He was trying to finish an assignment on trigonometry and was getting nowhere fast._

_"__Ugh!" he muttered, "When am I ever gonna use this in real life?!"_

_Suddenly, Dani planted himself next to him. She looked at him and grinned._

_"__...okay, I'll bite," decided Danny, "Why are you grinning at me?"_

_Dani clicked her fingers._

_One by one, three dozen separate Danis appeared behind her._

_"__I have a brood now," she said._

_"__...and I'm gonna go study somewhere else," said Danny._

_He got up and walked away._

* * *

"...so yeah, we had some laughs," finished Dani, "I'm gonna miss you, you weird little thing."

She leant down and patted the top of the box before stepping back.

Ember was next to step forward.

"I was never allowed near this thing," she admitted, "I wasn't 'trustworthy' enough. But I got a few kicks out of it."

* * *

_"__Isn't this hilariously immoral?" quizzed Jazz._

_"__Yep," nodded Ember, "Funny, though."_

_They, Tucker and Dani were sitting on Tucker's couch, watching the TV. Dani was juggling the Fiddley Thing in her hands._

_It was a quiet, boring night, and Tucker and Dani had decided to spice it up by trapping Crocker, Plankton and Calamitous in _Alien_._

_"__Who did this?" hissed Plankton, "Whose responsible this, guys?"_

_"__Whoever it was," mused Calamitous, "It must have been an extraordinarily powerful...um...um..."_

_"__Device?" suggested Plankton, "Artefact? Being?"_

_"__I know what this is," said Crocker, "This is the work of..."_

_"__No, please, don't you attract the-" warned Calamitous._

_"__FAIRY GOD PAR_-AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHH! ALIEN! ALIEN!"

_Jazz winced as the their three victims were set upon by an angry xenomorph._

_"__This...this is _horrible!_" she exclaimed._

_"__Aaagh! My spleen! Why is this happening! Give that back!"_

_There was short pause._

_"__Actually, yeah, that is kinda funny," admitted Jazz._

* * *

"So yeah, kinda sociopathic," shrugged Ember, "But it did good."

She stepped back. Sandy took her place.

"Well, it souped up my house," she shrugged, "So there's that. 'Course, it also turned me into a robot, got us stuck in a bizzaro world – three times – cloned me multiple times, turned me into a duplicate of Dani..."

"That one was fun," nodded Dani.

"...but yeah, despite that, I'm actually gonna miss this thing," admitted Sandy, "We had some laughs. Goodbye, you stupid little doohickie."

She stepped back, and the Bus Driver stepped up.

"I'm free," he said simply, "I am finally free."

"Hey, wait, you're that bus driver!" realised Spongebob, "What wacky career are you up to these days?"

"Unemployed and in therapy," replied the Bus Driver, flatly.

Spongebob looked awkwardly at his feet as the Bus Driver stepped back.

"Is there anything y'all wanna say, Spongebob?" asked Sandy.

"No," replied Spongebob, "I've got a better idea. Mr. Lancer."

Mr. Lancer nodded, lifting up the box and revealing two small rockets underneath it. He pressed a button, and they began to power up.

Spongebob grabbed his nose and began to play _Amazing Grace_ (it sounded a bit weird). Mr. Lancer let go of the box and began to lift up into the stars.

Sandy saluted it with two fingers as it drifted away, Dani repeating the gesture. Mr. Lancer wiped a tear from his eye (even though he hadn't known the thing existed until now). Squidward glanced at his watch, and Ember just looked bored.

As the Fiddley Thing faded into the darkness of open space, Sandy reached into a bag and pulled out a small gravestone. She dropped it into the powdery surface of the moon, where it would stand forever as a monument to a beloved but dangerous artefact.

_R.I.P. THE FIDDLEY THING_

_IT WILL BE MISSED  
BUT WE HOPE IT DOESN'T COME BACK_

Spongebob stopped playing and looked upwards, wiping his eyes as he did.

"I'm gonna miss that thing," he sniffled, "But maybe it was time."

"Reckon so, Spongebob, reckon so," nodded Sandy, giving Spongebob a sad smile, "And hey? We still got each other, right?"

"That we do, Sandy, that we do," agreed Spongebob.

There was a long silence.

"We just held a funeral for an inanimate object," said Spongebob.

"E-yup."

* * *

_O Fiddley Thing, you were a thing I wrote about,  
You were designed to do most anything,  
When I had been attacked by massive writer's drought,  
You would, you would turn up and put my mind in swing,_

_Sure your ideeeeaaaaas were stupid and were crazy,  
Anyone eeeeeeelse would write them off as mad,  
I took them iiiiiinnnn because I was quite lazy,  
O Fiddley Thing, O Fiddley Thing, you made me glad._

* * *

AN: I shall miss writing about the Fiddley Thing. I loved it 5evur.


	25. 25 10 14: Eureka

This might be the only time a comedy series has migrated to the serious side.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** I know, right. I mean, _Lord of the Flies!_ Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** *stands to attention as the trumpet plays* Thanks for reviewing!

**Cartoonatic55: **Yyyyyyep. ;) Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Popped balloons are always a tragedy. :( Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Heh, I couldn't let it go without giving it a fitting send-off. Thanks!

* * *

**25/10/14: Eureka**

_Inspector Jensen's Office, Wood Street, 10pm. 34h left._

Inspector Jensen was working late.

The day's investigations on the Dooge case had been less-than-fruitful. Apparently, Athena had confronted Grim overnight on Friday night, only to find that he had an alibi. With Timmy and Stan also found innocent, it seemed that the trail had dried up.

Perhaps Insano really had done it.

Inspector Jensen wasn't one to give up, though, and he had promised Jazz and Athena that he'd try and unearth some clues before he went home for the night.

By now, he had used up every trick in the book. He had borrowed access details from a friend of his on the Met, and was cross-referencing their records with those of the London City Police. Nothing was coming up – Grim's alibi was airtight, and all camera records for after 10pm at the Crystal Palace seemed to have been systematically erased.

Inspector Jensen was about to go home for the night when an idea struck him.

"Maybe questioning Gus again will do it," he muttered to himself.

He switched tabs on his browser, searching for schedules for the Crystal Palace theatre. He scowled. Gus' performance schedule had apparently wrapped up for the year on Thursday.

...wait a minute.

_"__Oh, and feel free to come to the show tomorrow! Only thirty pounds a head!"_

Gus had said that on _Thursday_. Why would he invite them to a performance that didn't exist?

His curiosity gained, Inspector Jensen ran a quick search for Gus on Google. He found almost nothing, save for show times. He then switched tabs and searched for him in the London City Police records – nothing. He double-checked with the Met – nothing.

He picked up his phone and dialled Athena.

"...yeah, it's Inspector Jensen, sorry for calling so late. Can you come in at nine tomorrow? I think I might have got our bloke..."

* * *

_Inspector Jensen's Office, Wood Street, 9am. 25h left._

"...in short, Gus doesn't exist. He's a pseudonym, a smokescreen for something else," finished Inspector Jensen, "And I'm 90% sure he wants us out of the way."

"Gus," cursed Athena, "How come we didn't suspect him? It seems obvious now..."

"Because he looked like a harmless dolt?" replied Jazz.

"_Eccentric_ is the word I would have used, but yes," nodded Athena.

"Well, he's the only suspect we have left," shrugged Jazz, "We should bring him in for questioning."

"I'd need to check that with the DCI," replied Inspector Jensen, "It's his call."

"While you do that, I'm gonna go check the Crystal Palace," suggested Jazz, "He could have left some evidence there that we missed."

"Good," nodded Inspector Jensen, "Meet us back here by one. Let's wrap this thing up."

Jazz nodded back and walked out the door.

"Why does this need to be cleared with the DCI?" asked Athena, "Out of curiosity, of course."

"Oh, he just doesn't like us dragging innocent people in for questioning," shrugged Inspector Jensen, "And DCI Watts has a _fierce_ temper..."

"Wait, DCI _Watts?_" blurted Athena, "What happened to Aldrich?"

"Aldrich?" replied Inspector Jensen, confused, "Aldrich works for the _Met_. He's got nothing to do with London City cases..."

"But he's the one who gave us the Dooge case!" exclaimed Athena, "He's the one who has Insano! He's..."

She trailed off as the two came to a sudden realisation.

"Grim went to Scotland Yard twice this week," whispered Athena, "That's the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police. Aldrich works for the Metropolitan Police..."

"My god," realised Inspector Jensen, "_He's on Grim's payroll._"

"Which means this entire case is a scam," concluded Athena, "It was designed to draw us out. And we just let Jazz out on her own..."

* * *

_Bank Underground Station, heading towards Central Line platforms, 9am. 25h left._

Later on, Jazz realised she should have considered the fact that Bank was nearly empty at 9 o'clock in the morning to be suspicious.

As she ambled down the steps towards the westbound platform, she hummed to herself. She finally had her culprit – this strange, seemingly harmless Gus the Magnificent – which meant her time in London hadn't been wasted and Insano was off free.

She reached the platform just as the train was leaving. _No matter_, she thought, _I've got time to wait. _She sat down on a bench.

"May I sit here, ma'am?"

Jazz looked up. DCI Aldrich was standing next to her – she smiled and scooted over, letting the balding policeman sit down.

"We've got him, DCI Aldrich!" she exclaimed, "We think it's Gus!"

"Gus, y'say?" replied Aldrich, scratching his chin, "That's a pretty good guess, Ms. Fenton. But yer missin' one thing."

"Missing something?" quizzed Jazz, tilting her head, "What do you mean?"

"When investigatin'," replied Aldrich, "_Don't trust anyone._"

A staff-only door flew open. Three policeman, all armed with submachine guns, emerged, pointing their weapons at Jazz.

"Wh-what's going on?!" exclaimed Jazz, "Y-you don't think _I_ did it, do you?"

"Sorry ma'am," replied Aldrich, "Ovard Grim makes a good bargain."

"...you work for _Grim?_" spluttered Jazz.

"So, what d'you say, lads?" asked Aldrich, "How about we show her the _true_ culprit?"

"Sounds like a plan, DC..." one of the constables began.

"I didn't say you could actually speak," grunted Aldrich.

The constable bowed his head and motioned towards the door. Gus stepped out, arms crossed.

"Aha! I knew..."

Jazz trailed off as Gus' form shimmered, morphing into a black-coated, half-rotted corpse.

"Miss me, Ms. Fenton?" growled the Governor.

"Th-th-the Governor?!" exclaimed Jazz, "Buh-but you died!"

"I got better," replied the Governor, simply, "And thanks to the inattentiveness of your handler, I have you right where I..."

"Police!"

Madame Athena and Inspector Jensen burst onto the platform. The former was charging a magical blast in her left hand, the latter holding up his badge.

"Ah, if it isn't the witch?" sniffed Aldrich, "I see you've brought Inspector Morse with you."

"Detective Inspector Howard Jensen, City of London Police," snarled Inspector Jensen, "We've blown this open, Aldrich! Don't make this too hard on yourself!"

"Really? You thought you'd just shove a badge in me face and it'd be over, Jensen?" sneered Aldrich, "No, that's not how it's going to work..."

He grabbed Jazz in a headlock. The Governor nodded his head.

"Well, it's been a pleasure, Athena, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your pawn," he farewelled, "Good day."

There was a flash of light. When it cleared, the Governor, the police and their captive were gone.

"...well, when I signed up for the Thin Blue Line, I never thought I'd be dealing with this," muttered Inspector Jensen.

"We have to get her back!" exclaimed Athena, "She's their key to starting a new dark age!"

"I _knew_ it."

A figure in a trenchcoat and hat walked down the steps towards them. Her voice was clearly female.

"You _were_ grooming her," snapped the figure, "You never intended her to live, did you Athena?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, this is police business..." began Inspector Jensen.

"No. I didn't."

Inspector Jensen turned back to Athena, eyes wide.

"I...I beg your pardon?" he blurted.

"Jazz is the key," replied Athena, looking at her feet, "She will be the one to decide the fate of the world. Either she will allow ReGenesis to start a new dark age or...or she'll die. Those are our only options."

"I'm not even going to pretend to understand what you just said," muttered Inspector Jensen, "What, she he has to die to save the world?"

"Willingly," nodded Athena, "It was my job to guide her to...to her fate."

"Excuse me for speaking out of line, ma'am," replied Inspector Jensen, "But that's pretty messed up."

"And it's _wrong_," said the figure, "Not just _morally_, but _factually_. If Jazz dies, she unleashes a scourge on the planet. It covers every continent, one-by-one, until the last of humanity dies in a final stand...right here."

"How do you know this?" demanded Inspector Jensen, "Who are you?"

The figure took off her hat. Athena doubled back in shock.

"My god," she whispered, "You're..._you're a Turner._"

The brown-haired, bespectacled teenager nodded.

"My name is Tammy Turner," nodded Tammy, "And I come from twenty-five years in the future."

* * *

AN: COME WITH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE


	26. 26 10 14: For Want of a Bit

Due to my having volunteered myself (much to my eternal regret), the originally planned shot for today has been cancelled. Instead, I found this in my documents folder - a scrapped idea from earlier in the month which I think ended up being replaced by _The Presidents_ \- and cleaned it up. I am very sorry.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** I don't think anybody was. :D Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Indeed, Aldrich is a very shifty name... Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** It's the finale, mate - I'm escalating everything. :) Incidentally, yeah, kinda forgot about that. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**26/10/14: For Want of a Bit**

Hello. This is E3 speaking. And doing some apologising. Lots and lots of apologising.

My original intent today was a spoof of _Little Shop of Horrors_, which I have been promising Cartoonatic for pretty much ages at this point. Unfortunately, I rather stupidly forgot I had volunteered to join the Thin Yellow Line (read; help direct traffic to raise money for the Leadership Group at college) and that I had an essay due tomorrow. I am hot, tired and full of loathing for motorists at the moment, and I feel I cannot complete the 'shot to the standard I require of myself.

I am deeply, deeply sorry about this. I _will_ get it done – consider it an HU special feature to go up on dA at some point in November.

That'll be all, and remember, when a group is asked to do something, N.A.V.Y. – Never Again Volunteer Yourself.

Thank you for your understanding,

E3.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," said Danny, "You are using a massive, 88-terrabyte supercomputer powered by a cold-fusion reactor to play old, early 1990s 8-bit handheld games."

He was standing in his lab, watching Jimmy and Timmy playing an old RPG on VOX – the sheer size of the screen meaning that each pixel was about the size of a fist. Jimmy was on the controller, concentrating hard, while Timmy was sitting back and humming along to the music.

"Danny, sometimes you need to play something a bit...archaic," shrugged Jimmy, "It's nostalgia."

"...you're _ten._"

"That doesn't change a thing," shrugged Jimmy, "Besides, Timmy wants me to level up his team enough to take on the Gym in..."

"Wait," realised, "Are you playing Po..."

Jimmy shushed him.

"Come on, Danny," shrugged Timmy, "Everybody loves these old games! Find me one person who doesn't?"

"I don't," replied Danny.

Jimmy and Timmy gasped. Jimmy dropped the controller.

"Daniel J Fenton!" exclaimed Timmy, "How can you not like this?!"

"Well," shrugged Danny, "When I was a kid there was this bit that scared the crud outta me. Y'know, the bit with the Tower?"

"I know the bit," nodded Timmy.

"Come on, Danny," shrugged Jimmy, "I'm sure now that you're a teenager it won't be as bad as it used to be. C'mon, let's show you."

He paused and pressed a button, opening a YouTube video of the same game. He put it on full screen and played it.

"Okay, so I think you're talking about the part with the ghosts," said Jimmy, "As you can see, it turns up here and you can clearly see it's just..."

The ghost appeared on screen.

Danny screamed, leapt out of his chair and ran for the door.

Timmy and Jimmy stared after him.

"...okay, did that just happen?" quizzed Timmy, "Did the _ghost hunter_ just get chased off by a couple of pixels?"

"Looks like it," replied Jimmy, "Hmm...I think we're dealing with a phobia here, Timmy."

"I think that was hilarious," said Timmy.

"As his friends," continued Jimmy, "It is imperative that we get him over this fear. Come on, Timmy, we got work to do..."

* * *

"...there is a secret cabal of gamers and you never told me about them," grunted Timmy, "Thanks Jimmy, thanks for telling me these things."

Jimmy had taken his friend to a dark, shadowy room, consisting of a single table surrounded by computers, consoles and arcade machines. This was the meeting place of the Secret Cabal of Gamers – the Great Old Nerds.

"Members of the SCG, rise for our solemn oath," ordered Elmer, as the nerds rose from their chairs.

"Repeat the oath," said Elmer, putting his fist against his heart, "Up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-Start."

"Up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-Start," they all repeated.

"You are all a bunch of dorks," grunted Timmy.

The nerds sat down, their heads bowed in respect for their oath. Then they looked up at their guests.

"Bring us your request, dudes," said Soos – the Grand Poobah of the SCG – "And we shall see if we may grant it."

"Our friend is terrified of an eight-bit ghost," replied Jimmy, "We need to cure his phobia, oh mighty one."

"...you've gotta be kidding me," muttered Timmy.

"That is a _serious_ ailment," agreed Sandy, "It's gonna require the _big guns..._"

"Wait, since when are you a gamer?" quizzed Timmy.

"Why wouldn't I be?" replied Sandy, crossing her arms, "Y'all don't know what I do _all_ the time."

"There is only one cure for Lavenderphobia," said Soos, sagely, "He must play through the Tower..."

"Yeah, okay, that sounds easy," shrugged Timmy.

"..._on the Haunted GameBoy!_"

There was the sound of thunder and the room was illuminated by lightning.

"...the _Haunted GameBoy_," repeated Timmy, his tone flat.

There was the sound of thunder and the room was illuminated by lightning.

"Yes, the _Haunted GameBoy!_"

There was the sound of thunder and the room was illuminated by lightning.

"Okay, why's it called the _Haunted GameBoy?_" asked Timmy.

There was the sound of thunder and the room was illuminated by lightning.

"Eh, it's just 'cause it's black and it's got cobwebs on it, dude," shrugged Soos, pulling the old GameBoy from his pants pocket and pushing it over to them, "It's perfectly normal."

"Oh! Okay, I thought we'd be having some kind of adventure," shrugged Timmy.

He grabbed the GameBoy and began to walk away.

"...but the cartridge inside carries a terrible curse!" finished Soos.

Timmy and Jimmy stopped and turned around.

"What _kind_ of curse?" demanded Timmy.

"...I dunno," shrugged Soos, "It's just what the designer notes said. Anyway, have fun with that thing!"

Jimmy and Timmy left, very quickly.

* * *

"So you're saying playing the game on _this specific _GameBoy's gonna fix my phobia?" quizzed Danny.

He, Jimmy and Timmy were sitting on the couch in the Fenton's living room. Timmy had brought Cosmo and Wanda along, disguised as his backpack and water-bottle respectively.

"That's what the nerds said," shrugged Timmy, "And when are they ever wrong?"

"Eh, fair enough," shrugged Danny, "And you're not going anywhere, right? You'll stay until it's done?"

"I'm not holding your hand, Fenton," grunted Timmy.

"We'll be here," nodded Jimmy, "That's what friends are for."

"Right!" exclaimed Wanda, "We stick around and help you conquer your ironic fears!"

"And we haven't done much this year," added Cosmo, "So we thought we'd squeeze into this shot."

"Well, here goes," gulped Danny, pressing the power button.

There was a sudden explosion of pixels, cascading from the screen on the Game Boy. It wrapped around the group, pulling them into the console before they even had time to scream. The GameBoy fell to the ground.

At that moment, Tucker walked into the room.

"Hey guys, Jazz got in contact with a therapist! We don't have to make him play the..."

He trailed off as he looked down at the discarded game.

"...ho boy."

* * *

Danny was sitting in a field, looking towards a somewhat pixelated tower in the distance. Next to him, Jimmy, Timmy, Cosmo and Wanda were climbing to their feet, getting their bearings after being sucked into the game.

"Yeah, should've seen this one coming," muttered Danny.

"That's just how our lives work, Danny," shrugged Jimmy, "That's just how it works."

* * *

AN: Jimmy gets it. He really does.


	27. 27 10 14: Dragons of Oregon

The beginning of the end begins to end!

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Yep, it was inevitable. Thanks for reading!

**Cartoonatic55:** Making fun of creepypasta is always fun. :D Very, very glad you liked it! Thanks for reviewing!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Yeah, I think I cried when I first played it (I was five.) Although I'm listening to that theme right now, funnily enough. Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I think the Gamer Nerds scene is one of my personal favourites of this HU, tbf. Thanks very much!

* * *

**27/10/14: Dragons of Oregon**

"Okay, can somebody explain how we ended up standing guard in the middle of a forest at the dead of night?" asked Operative D, "Does-does Fenton hate us or something?"

Two Guys in White were standing in the middle of nowhere, weapons trained into the darkness of the trees.

"It's a cordon, D," replied Operative L, "We're keeping them away from Fenton and Locker while they decipher that journal they found."

"What does any of this have to do with hunting ghosts?" demanded D.

"I dunno, I don't make the orders," shrugged L, "Now shut up and..."

There was a rustling from the trees.

"...what was that?"

He reached into his suit jacket and produced a torch, shining it into the growth. A rabbit emerged from a bush, hopping away into the night.

"Heh, thought that was something else," shrugged L, "Can't let 'em get to you, huh D?"

He turned around. D was gone.

"Uh...D? This isn't funny," gulped L.

He was suddenly acutely aware of a warm breeze blowing down on him, picking up and dropping to the time of...breathing?

He looked up.

A dragon looked down on him.

"Good evening there, boyo," the dragon smirked in a Welsh accent.

L screamed.

* * *

"So it was a searchlight," nodded Dipper, "Kinda anti-climactic."

The Mystery Shack crew were hiding in the bushes just outside the view of Amore's searchlights. From their position, they could see Danny, Jack and Maddie bound to trees – Vlad was talking to Locker, occasionally glancing into the darkness as if he sensed a wrongness about the surrounding woodland. Director Fenton was on her own, talking into a radio. A cordon of GiW agents surrounded the area.

Locker was holding a book, studying it intently.

"That dude there, with the book," mused Soos, "That look familiar to you guys?"

Dipper squinted. Locker lifted the book briefly, the brass engraving on the front shining briefly. Dipper's eyes widened.

"Another journal?!" he gasped, "But...but I thought there were only three!"

"Ooh, plot twist!" said Mabel, excitedly.

"What's he doing with it?" asked Wendy, "And why's he got those people tied up?"

"Only one way to find out," replied Dipper, "We've gotta get that journal."

"But how are we gonna get past the Feds?" asked Soos.

"I take it 'full-frontal assault' is out of the question," muttered Wendy.

"Keep watching," whispered Dipper, "Maybe we'll see something..."

"Fenton, this book is a complete waste of time," grunted Locker, "I can't hide nor hair of this code!"

"Can't be that good a spymaster, then," grunted Vlad.

"I've tried every cipher I know!" snapped Locker, "It's all gibberish!"

Director Fenton grabbed the book, shaking her head as she walked over to her captives.

"I assume it is enchanted in some way," she shrugged, "Perhaps only family can read it. Jackson, would you care to look at your father's book?"

She held out the book. Jack said nothing, his head bowed.

"Come now," urged Director Fenton, "Surely you can't say no to your mother?"

"Don't do it, dad!" exclaimed Danny.

"Shut your mouth, hybrid!" spat Director Fenton, "This is between me and my son!"

"...hybrid?" quizzed Maddie, confused.

Jack looked up at his mother.

He spat in her face.

Director Fenton wiped her face, shook her head and reached into her coat.

"Well then I'm sorry, Jackson," she replied, "But I need Pendragon blood."

She pulled out a knife.

"And why him?" demanded Danny, "I have Arthur's blood too! Why not me?!"

"Danny, no!" snapped Maddie.

"Your blood has been tainted," growled Director Fenton, "It's _diluted_ by that..._gunk_ from the Portal. Jackson's is pure."

"What do you mean, _diluted?_" demanded Maddie, "What does the Portal have to do with any of this?"

"Oh, he hasn't told you?" chuckled Director Fenton, "Daniel, you're a _coward_, you know..."

"That's _enough_, Director," snapped Vlad.

Director Fenton nodded, lifting the knife towards Jack's neck.

"I'm really, truly sorry about this," whispered Director Fenton, "But it's for a good cause..."

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

Director Fenton jumped and dropped the knife as a shrill beeping filled the night air. Operative K pulled a small tablet from his suit jacket.

"Detecting something on short-range radar!" he declared, "Non-ectoplasmic but closing fast!"

"Well, what is it?" demanded Vlad, "Run infrared scans, you idiots!"

K pressed a button on the tablet as O pulled out a small ecto-blaster, looking anxiously at the night sky.

"Scan complete," nodded K, "There's some kind of large, organic creature circling over the woods. We're also picking up four smaller dots, position..."

He trailed off and looked towards a collection of bushes to the left of him.

"...right there," he finished.

All searchlights immediately fell on the bush, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. The four people hiding behind it immediately winced, covering their eyes as the GiW trained their weapons on them.

"Hands up!" thundered O.

"What are you doing here?" demanded K.

"...camping?" said Soos, feebly.

"Spies," sneered Locker, "How much is Guinevere paying you? Because I can double it..."

"Don't bother, they've seen too much," snapped Director Fenton, "Operatives, deal with them."

"Any last words?" growled K, picking up a large ectoplasmic rifle.

Dipper looked up.

"Dragon," he said.

"Dragon?" scoffed K, "What kind of last words are..."

"_DRAGON!_"

There was an almighty crash as a massive red Welsh dragon landed among the agents. With a sickening crack, the searchlights went out.

In the ink-black night, there was a single voice.

"Well lads, who wants to go first?"

Then the trees were illuminated by flashes of green as the GiW opened fire in abject panic.

"Get the journal!" shouted Dipper, running into the melee.

The battle was a confused mess of lights and sound as the dragon went for the Guys in White. Dipper slid under an ectoplasmic ray as he ran for the trees, just about seeing the shine of the journal's brass in the disorder. He jumped towards the book, arms extended. He landed just in front of it, grabbing it as he rolled into a tree.

"Got it!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

PUNCH.

Dipper was sent reeling as Director Fenton delivered him a fierce right hook. The book landed next to him – Dipper reached out for it, only for Director Fenton to stamp on his arm.

"That is mine, you little runt," snarled Director Fenton, pointing a gun in his face, "I'll be taking it..."

A shadowy figure jumped out from behind her, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her into a tree before throwing her out into the chaos of the dragon fight. The figure spat in Director Fenton's direction before holding out a hand for Dipper.

"You okay, Dipper?" asked Wendy.

"W-Wendy?" blurted Dipper, "You-you just attacked a government agent!"

"Yeah, and she just punched a_ twelve-year old_ in the _face_," reminded Wendy, "Seriously, who does that?"

She pulled Dipper to his feet and picked up the journal.

"Uh...hey, random strangers? You wouldn't mind untying me, would you?"

They turned. Danny was tied up next to them.

"Hold on," nodded Wendy, running around the tree to untie him.

"So," shrugged Dipper, "That journal yours?"

"No, we just found the co-ordinates to dig it up," shrugged Danny, wriggling away from the tree as his ropes loosened, "Hey Jones! Save some for me, will you?"

"No promises!" called the dragon.

"Wait, you know a dragon?" quizzed Wendy, emerging from behind the tree.

"Jones? Sure, he's a great guy," nodded Danny, "I save him from a-Gah!"

Vlad grabbed Danny in a headlock from behind, aiming a charging ectoplasmic ray at Dipper's head.

"The journal, ma'am," he growled.

Wendy looked down, hesitating for just a second – which was long enough for Locker to slip in from behind, grab the journal from her arms and flip her onto the ground.

"I love it when they hesitate," sneered Locker, opening the book.

He raised an eyebrow.

"...decoded? Fenton's blood must've been good enough after all," he nodded, "Come on Masters, let's get out of here."

"You didn't see anything," snapped Vlad, raising an arm.

There was a brilliant flash of purple, blinding Danny, Dipper and Wendy and ruining their night vision. By the time their sight recovered, Vlad, Locker and Director Fenton were gone.

With a thud, Operative K was hurled to the ground. Jones looked around for more agents – seeing none, he came to a rest next to Danny, beaming.

"Okay," he panted, "Scale of one-to-ten, how good was that?"

"Ten!" exclaimed Mabel, running over to Dipper.

"I'd give it a six," grunted Danny.

"Well, at least someone liked it," shrugged Jones.

Maddie, Jack and Soos walked over, the latter having untied the Fenton parents.

"Okay, I think I need an explanation," snapped Maddie, "Hybrid? Portal? You being friends with a dragon? Danny, what's going on?"

"Can this wait?" asked Jones.

He looked Danny in the eye. His face was grim.

"Danny, we've got big problems," he warned, "_Very_ big."

"How big?" asked Danny.

"The Governor has your sister."

"_What?!_" exclaimed Danny.

"_Who_ has Jazz?" demanded Jack, "What's happening, Danny?"

"He can tell you when we get to Fort Arthur," replied Jones, "But we have to go now. Get on my back!"

Danny jumped onto Jones' back, urging his parents to follow. Jones turned to Dipper and the Mystery Shack gang.

"You too," he said, "You saw what they're up to – if you don't come with us, they will come back for you."

"I'm not even going to pretend what's going on here," shrugged Dipper, "But okay."

"Can we be back by morning?" quizzed Soos, "We have to open the Mystery Shack by eight and..."

"Aw, c'mon Soos!" exclaimed Mabel, "We get to ride a dragon! That's gotta be worth missing a day at the Shack!"

Soos scratched his chin.

"Very well," he nodded, "Dragon it is."

He followed the Fentons and his co-workers onto the dragon. Jones groaned a little.

"Ugh, this is heavy," he muttered, "Never mind. Come on!"

He kicked off the ground and into the night sky, shooting off into the horizon.

* * *

Sir Galahad looked out the window of his state room in his fort on World's End. Above him, the black sky was dotted by stars, but in the distance dark clouds were gathering. Behind him stood the Governor, Grim and two government agents – one male, one female.

"What was that you said, Governor?" quizzed Galahad, "It always rains?"

"Always," the Governor replied.

"Then our time of destiny comes," nodded Galahad, "Simon? Diane?"

The two agents looked over to their master.

"Send word to ready the fleet," ordered Galahad, "They will come by sea, and we will meet them by sea..."

* * *

AN: NAVAL BATTLE INCOMING


	28. 28 10 14: Everyone Comes Together

And here comes the final stretch.

Review replies;

**Guest:** I'm not retiring from writing, just from HU. :) Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Indeed - of course, I know what'll happen to her, but you know... ;) Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Hopefully it lives up to expectations. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**28/10/14: Everyone Comes Together**

"Alright," Inspector Jensen said wearily, "So what you're basically saying is that Ms. Fenton is key to the apocalypse, that an undead maniac has his hands on her and that we need to help somebody who hasn't even been born yet to prevent the end of the world."

"Yep," nodded Tammy.

"I picked a really bad time to quit smoking," muttered Inspector Jensen.

He, Athena and Tammy were sitting in his office, trying to formulate a plan to save Jazz. Seeing as they had no idea where she was, who Grim and the Governor were working for and what they had at their disposal, this was a rather difficult task.

"So," asked Athena, "What do you know about what's about to happen?"

"Only what my dad told me," shrugged Tammy, "He was there, and there was some kind of battle. He never really talked about it more than he had to."

"Your dad?" quizzed Inspector Jensen, "You mean the Turner boy? Blimey, it's odd to think of him having kids…"

"Can we get him picked up?" asked Athena, "I'm starting to have an idea…"

"You want me to grab the old bloke, too?" asked Inspector Jensen.

"Stanford Pines? N…"

"Yes, he was there too," nodded Tammy.

"Righto," said Inspector Jensen, "I'll get someone on it."

He got up and walked out of the office.

Athena sighed and crossed her arms.

"I take it you don't like me, Tamatha?"

"Not in the slightest," said Tammy.

"Do you understand my motivations?" asked Athena.

"No, I don't," replied Tammy, "Call me naïve, but I just can't understand why you'd manipulate her like that…"

"Well then," nodded Athena, "Pray you never have to."

* * *

"You want us to go _where?!_" exclaimed Sandy.

She, Spongebob and Dani were in the Treedome, having just landed back on Earth from the Moon funeral. Sandy had just received a phone call from Danny – clearly, not of the kind she might have expected.

"_Fort Arthur,_" replied Danny, "_It's in the Atlantic. You'll know it when you see it – y'know, magic, you can only find it if Guinevere wants you to, all that jazz."_

"So we've got another catastrophe with Avalon," grunted Sandy, "What is it this time?"

"_From what I've been told, the Governor is back, he's working with Vlad and the Guys in White and he has Jazz,_" explained Danny, "_I'll explain the rest when you get here, but we need you._"

"_The Governor?!_" exclaimed Sandy, "Well dang it, why didn't you say so? We'll be right over."

She hung up the phone.

"So, adventure time?" quizzed Spongebob.

"That feels like a reference," mused Dani.

"Dani, I'm pretty sure there's a teleporter in there somewhere," said Sandy, pointing at her souped up tree, "Find it and fire it up. Spongebob, run home and grab your karate gear. We've got a rescue mission on our hands."

"Aye aye, ma'am!" shouted Spongebob, saluting before running out the door.

"He said they have Jazz?" quizzed Dani.

"Pretty much," nodded Sandy.

Dani planted her fist in her hand.

"Let's get 'em."

* * *

Fort Arthur wasn't exactly impressive – a brick-and-mortar colonial-style fort positioned on the cape of an inlet on a rocky island. The inlet was packed full of wooden warships, and scores and scores of soldiers were drilling on the open ground outside the walls. All of this would soon be bound for World's End.

There was a flash of light, and Athena and company appeared on one of the ramparts. She and Tammy landed fairly easily – Inspector Jensen, Timmy and Grunkle Stan immediately doubled over, the latter clutching his stomach.

"Well, that was unpleasant," muttered Inspector Jensen.

"I feel like I just got punched in the stomach," complained Timmy.

"Why does magic have to be painful?" lamented Stan.

"Oh, get over yourselves," grunted Tammy, "You think that's uncomfortable, try time travel."

"So who exactly are you, anyway?" Timmy asked Tammy, "You just came to my hotel and told me to come with you if I wanted to live."

"Funny you should mention that, Turner," replied Inspector Jensen, "Because she's…"

"Can't tell you, space time thing," replied Tammy, quickly, "Just call me Tammy."

"Eh, fair enough," shrugged Timmy.

"What I wanna know," said Stan, "Is why you decided to bring me along. I mean, it's not like _I_ have anything to do with this…"

"You do, actually. More than you think."

A large, armoured figure, mildly stubbled with brown hair, walked up to them, a red coated sergeant at his side.

"Lancelot," nodded Athena, "Hannigan."

"Morning, madame," nodded Hannigan.

"For a start," explained Lancelot, "Your grand-niece and nephew and your entire employee base just arrived here."

"What?!" exclaimed Stan, "Then…then who's looking after the Mystery Shack?!"

* * *

Waddles sat on the counter of the Mystery Shack gift shop, eating all of the money in the register.

* * *

"That is not important right now," snapped Lancelot.

"_Not important?!_ I'm losing money by the hour here!" exclaimed Stan.

"We stand on the verge of the end of the world," growled Lancelot, "You may never make another cent again unless you listen to me."

Stan was suddenly very quiet.

"Thank you," nodded Lancelot, "Now follow me."

* * *

"Do you find it kinda weird that we have so many people here to save the world?" asked Danny, looking over the occupants sitting around the meeting table in the Fort's war room.

"I find it heartening," shrugged Spongebob.

The various groups had finally been joined in the room and were now waiting for Guinevere to arrive. Most of them were talking among themselves – Lancelot and Hannigan were standing in the corner, discussing something.

The door suddenly flew open, and two Guardsmen marched into the room.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," one barked, "Please stand to receive the Quee-"

"Not today, Guardsman, we're short on time."

The two Guardsmen snapped to attention as their Queen entered.

Guinevere walked straight to the head of the table, ignoring the silence that greeted her arrival. Danny stood up and bowed despite not being required to – Jack and Maddie stared in confusion.

"By now, I'm sure you've all been briefed as to what's going on," said Guinevere.

"Actually, I'm completely in the dark here," said Inspector Jensen.

"Yeah, we just got dragged here," added Stan, "I don't even know _where_ I am."

Guinevere nodded somewhat wearily and waved an arm. A hazy, holographic display of World's End appeared before them.

"This is World's End," she said, "It is a small island in the South Atlantic, just off the coast of Chile. An entity known as ReGenesis is working with Sir Galahad to mine the island, using kidnapped forced labour."

"Slavery, you mean," nodded Dani.

"Slavery," nodded Athena, "ReGenesis has gathered King James, the Governor, Ovard Grim and a man known as 'Dan'…"

Danny visibly paled.

"…to help him in this operation," she continued, "We believe that they are looking for some kind of mystical power. We also believe that Jasmine Fenton is key to unlocking this power."

"Why?" demanded Maddie, getting to her feet, "Why is she the key?"

"She is the last pure-blooded descendant of Arthur," replied Lancelot, "She is fated to change the fate of the world."

"Whatever ReGenesis is digging up needs King Arthur's bloodline," said Hannigan, "Least that's what we think. If it is, it is absolutely imperative that we get Ms. Fenton back."

"And back _alive_," stressed Tammy, glaring at Athena.

"Okay, that makes sense, I guess," shrugged Sandy, "But why bring all of us? I mean, we don't even know those guys."

She pointed to the Mystery Shack crew.

"Hi, I'm Soos!" said Soos brightly.

"All of you are fated to be here," replied Guinevere, "Else you would not be present."

"Oh, so it's _fate_," grunted Inspector Jensen, "That makes _perfect _sense."

The door opened. A naval officer ran into the room, skidding to a halt and snapping to attention.

"It's time, ma'am!" he boomed, "Nelson has his wind."

"Ready the fleet," nodded Guinevere, "I shall be there shortly. Hannigan?"

Hannigan nodded, pulling a list from his jacket.

"I need the Fentons, Jensen, Soos and Madame Athena," he nodded, "We need you ready for what's coming. The rest of you, stay here."

"But Danny..." began Jack.

"I'll be fine, dad," reassured Danny, "Go."

Hesitantly, the Fentons followed Hannigan, Inspector Jensen, Soos and Athena out the door. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Why aren't we going with them?" asked Dipper, "Why's he taking Soos? What's going on..."

"I hope it's a royal dinner or something!" beamed Mabel, "That'd be so _awesome_."

"If this is another thing about destiny, I swear I'm gonna..." began Timmy.

"I'm afraid it is," sighed Guinevere, "After the death of King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table dissolved into civil war. I propose to make a new Round Table."

"We've been watching you for some time," added Lancelot, "Your involvement in this state of affairs is no accident."

"You will be the new Knights of the Round Table, should you accept the honour," finished Guinevere, "You will be our vanguard."

There was a long silence.

"Well, we're dead," blurted Stan.

* * *

AN: Tomorrow we shall have fight in ships.


	29. 29 10 14: Let Battle Be Joined

Up with eight minutes to spare!

**OddAuthor:** I know that feeling, mate, it happened to me earlier this month. Thanks for reading!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Because Soos makes everything more fun? But seriously, you'll see. Thanks for reviewing!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** Oh, we'll see Insano again, don't worry. Glad you liked it! Thanks for the review.

* * *

**29/10/14: Let Battle Be Joined**

Galahad crossed his arms as he looked out over his fleet.

Morning had just broke, and the mist was starting to lift. The weather was poor – clouds were gathering above, and Galahad could feel the precipitation in the air. The wind was blowing strongly southbound, towards the island. It was an unpleasant day for a war.

Galahad didn't mind. His ships were gathered around the island in a cordon line, anchored and close enough to each other to provide fire support. The idea was that they would block the enemy fleet, remaining an obstacle even if they were sunk.

The crux of Galahad's line was the 140-gun ship-of-the-line _Goliath_ – a tall, black four-deck warship with iron cladding over her wooden surface. Twelve hundred souls manned her, and if that wasn't enough, she was armed with the heaviest guns available.

She was, quite simply, unassailable. Theoretically.

Although he'd never tell his underlings, Galahad had little faith in his blockade. The Avalonian fleet outnumbered him two-to-one – the sea was the only place Guinevere had an advantage. Galahad's ships were there as a speed bump rather than a trump card – they would thin out the attackers before they landed.

On shore, hidden by rocks and inclines on the cliff-faces, the Arthurian Guard were setting up positions on the main projected landing sites. They intended to turn the shore into a new Gallipoli – an impenetrable killing ground. Even if Guinevere pushed past them, they would lose vital time and men. Once they reached his fort and the mines, they would reach his elite detachment and those great knights loyal to his cause. And the remains of the Witchfinders, but Galahad put little stock in them. There, they would be decisively defeated – and even if they weren't, they would hold Guinevere long enough for the plan to be put into action.

ReGenesis, currently posted to the _Goliath_ as officer commanding, had been very useful. He had been an brilliantly successful pawn – an excellent red herring.

But that was all he'd ever been.

"Sir."

Galahad turned. Locker walked into the state room, followed by King James and the Governor.

"Major, I am _inspecting the fleet_," grunted Galahad.

"These two want to join the defending forces on the shore," explained Locker.

"I want to see the ones who defeated my Witchfinders destroyed," snarled James.

"And I feel I would be more useful on the front line," shrugged the Governor, "A bit of black magical support never hurt anyone."

"Just go," snapped Galahad, "Leave me to my thoughts."

James and the Governor nodded and left. Locker remained.

"Well, Locker?" demanded Galahad, "What now?"

"We appear to have lost Mr. Grim," replied Locker.

"He'll turn up," muttered Galahad, "How goes the preparations?"

"Simon tells me it'll be ready within the hour."

"Good, good," nodded Galahad, "Now..."

He looked out the window again.

"Let them come."

* * *

Inspector Jensen rolled his eyes as Soos vomited over the side of the _Sovereign of the Seas_ for the umpteenth time.

"Can somebody please tell me," he muttered, "How I got stuck on carpeting duty with this guy?"

"Somebody has to repair damage to the ship," shrugged a nearby lieutenant, "Your handyman friend is going to lead the repair crews. You're protecting him."

"So I'm body-guarding," muttered Inspector Jensen, "Fantastic."

Up on the quarterdeck, the Admiral commanding, Lord Nelson, was looking through his spyglass. The enemy fleet was starting to appear out of the gloom.

"Hardy," he ordered his captain, "Signal the fleet. Avalon expects that every man shall do his duty."

"Isn't that a bit..._done_, sir?" quizzed Hardy.

"Nonsense, Hardy," replied Nelson, "A good turn of words has longevity, captain! Just ask Caesar."

"Yes sir," nodded Hardy, walking away to raise the signal.

Nelson turned his spyglass, looking towards a small, elderly frigate – the 36-gun HMS _Swiftsure_, flanked by the larger _Indefatigable_ for protection.

"I don't much like that," he muttered.

"Sir?" quizzed a midshipman that was standing nearby.

"Giving up a ship on a glorified suicide run," replied Nelson, "_Swiftsure_'s old, but she's a goodly frigate. I don't like wasting ships."

He shook his head.

"Damn you, Cochrane, I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered.

* * *

Madame Athena clutched the wooden surface of the captain's table aboard the _Swiftsure_, her face a deathly pale. The wind was picking up dangerously – yet across from her, Lord Thomas Cochrane was calmly drinking a glass of wine and looking over a map.

The door opened, and a marine led a Midshipman – Goldington, was it? – into the room.

"Ah, Mr. Goldington!" exclaimed Cochrane, "I trust you didn't fall overboard on your way to the cabin this time?"

"Commodore Pellew has signalled, sir," replied Goldington, "He has received his orders and wishes to know if you are inebriated, sir."

"Drunk?!" boomed Cochrane, "No sir, not drunk! _Mad!_"

He got to his feet.

"Tell Edward – may I call him Edward? I think I shall call him Edward – tell Edward that he has received his orders and simply must follow," ordered Cochrane, "And remind him that if this works, his ship shall be the first to sail to glory!"

"I believe you talked about that last night, Admiral," mused Athena, "He rephrased it as 'first ship to sail into matchsticks, didn't he?"

"Oh, that Pellew," chuckled Cochrane, "No sense of adventure! Come man, I told him once, you only live once! The statement got me banned from the Admiral's mess but it was worth it!"

He shook his head.

"Marine, deliver the message," he ordered, "Mr. Goldington, I'm assigning you to the demolition team. We might be able to make your clumsiness useful today."

"Yes sir," nodded Goldington, wincing a little as he walked away.

"...demolition team?" quizzed Athena, "I thought we were just going to _ram_ the _Goliath_."

"It's my own personal touch," replied Cochrane, "To give our attack more _oomph_."

"How?" asked Athena, wondering if she really wanted to know.

"I have packed twenty-five barrels of gunpowder into the bow of the _Swiftsure_," said Cochrane.

"_You're mad,_" said Athena.

"Certainly!" beamed Cochrane, "If I wasn't, I'd have died years ago!"

He walked out the cabin, whistling to himself.

Athena gazed at the discarded wine glass on the table. She immediately picked it up and drained it.

* * *

The _forlorn hope_ was already in their boats.

Maddie clutched the side of the rowboat as she looked over its occupants. Jack was holding the Anti-Creep stick, looking determined. Colour Sergeant Hannigan was sitting at the front, cleaning a Thompson submachine gun (where a redcoat had gotten a Tommy Gun from, nobody was willing to say). Corporal Dixon was reading a book (which he been mocked about – everyone seemed to have thought he couldn't read). The other four men – Riflemen Harris, Hagman, Cooper and Perkins – were rowing in silence.

"Jack," whispered Maddie, "I know how Jazz is involved in all this, but...what about Danny? And didn't that girl at the meeting look a bit...familiar?"

"What, the crazy future one?" asked Jack.

"No, the black-haired one, came in with the squirrel and sponge," replied Maddie.

"Come to think of it, she does look a lot like Danny," nodded Jack, "And a lot of people here recognise him...and there was what mo-_the Director_ said about his blood..."

"When this is over," decided Maddie, "We're talking to our kids."

Jack nodded, and the boat was silent again.

Hannigan looked back at the occupants of the boat. He looked over to Rifleman Hagman.

"Sing us in, Hagman?" he whispered, "This silence is getting deafening."

Hagman nodded, sitting back in the boat.

"_Here's forty shillings on the drum,"_ he sang, "_For those who volunteer to come, to 'list and fight the foe today, over the hills and far away..._"

The other occupants of the boat, save the Fentons, immediately joined in.

"_O'er the hills and o'er the main,_

_Through Flanders, Portugal and Spain,_

_King George commands and we obey,_

_Over the hills and far away..."_

* * *

Not far away, Timmy was in his own boat, slipping past the majority of the fleet into a small, mostly undefended inlet. Of course, the _reason_ it was undefended was because it was uncharted – it led into a cave, and Guinevere and Lancelot were banking on that cave leading into the mines. It was too small for a main invasion force – but just large enough for a dozen or so commandoes and a small team of poor, doomed 'chosen.'

Timmy's boat was the emptiest of the little flotilla, consisting of a few sailors rowing the boat, three steel-helmeted commandoes, Dani and Tammy – the latter looking over them with an odd expression on her face.

"Okay, your starting to creep me out," declared Timmy, "What's going on?"

"I knew you," shrugged Tammy, "In the future."

"Do I live?" asked Timmy.

"Right until the end," replied Tammy, "You both die just before I get sent back. Pretty violent."

"Oh..._goodie_," muttered Timmy.

"That's not gonna happen, Timmy," replied Dani, "We're gonna stop this apocalypse before it begins."

"But happens to you, then?" asked Timmy, "If we win this, history changes. You might never be born."

"It'd be worth it," replied Tammy, grimly.

"Okay, now I'm going to stop talking to the creepy future person," decided Timmy, turning around.

A commando leaned in close to Tammy.

"When we get ashore," he whispered, too quietly for Timmy and Dani to hear, "We'll need to move quickly. I'd stake me life that ReGenesis has something posted around here."

"I know that, Corporal," grumbled Tammy.

"I know you do," whispered the corporal, smiling wryly, "So keep yer parents under control."

Tammy raised an eyebrow.

"How did you-"

"It's the face," shrugged the corporal.

He chuckled to himself as he went back to his position.

* * *

ReGenesis stood on the side of the _Goliath_, staring at the approaching ships. They were nearly in range. It was almost time.

He turned to the captain, his face stern.

"Fire on my word," he snarled.

* * *

"Alright lads, two minutes!" barked Hannigan, "Make ready!"

The soldiers loaded their rifles, checking them one last time to ensure they were in working order. Jack and Maddie glanced at each other, clutching their weapons.

"Fix...bayonets!" shouted Hannigan.

Dixon and the riflemen drew bayonets from their scabbards, fixing them to the barrels of their weapons.

Hannigan reached into his satchel and pulled out a whistle.

* * *

"Wait until they reach the shore, men!" ordered James, marching down a trench built on the end of the rocky beach, "Get them clustered."

There was the ominous click of a machine gun being prepared, and James smirked to himself.

"With God as my witness, this ends today," he snarled.

Above them, the Governor stood next to an artillery piece on top of the cliff.

"Aim for the ships," he ordered, "Send them to the bottom! Number One gun, prepare to fire!"

* * *

"Mr. Goldington! We need that powder over here! Today!"

Cochrane watched as Goldington ran across the deck of the _Swiftsure_, a box of gunpowder in his hands. He nearly fell as he raced down the stairs below deck.

"Well," he said jovially, glancing over to Athena, "Here we go!"

* * *

It was ten past eleven. Galahad was standing outside his fort. He sniffed the air and smiled.

"Well, Governor, you were right," he declared.

A drop of rain landed on his head – then another, and another, and another...

"It always rains," nodded Galahad.

* * *

_A shout of 'fire'._

_The sound of a whistle._

_The thunder of a gun._

_And battle is joined._

* * *

AN: I love Avalon's anachronisms.


	30. 30 10 14: Open Letter to dA: Final Words

One final intermission...

**OddAuthor:** That's okay, neither did Nelson's. :D Thanks for reading!

**Night-Waker:** THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GO DOWN. Thanks for reviewing! :D

**TweenisodeOrange:** It most assuredly is. ;) Thanks for the review!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** I have converted you to Timmy/Dani! My life is complete!* Also, I think the stuff with Cochrane was my favourite to write. Thanks very much!

* * *

**30/10/14: An Open Letter to DeviantArt: Parting Words**

To the internet's most terrible and awful feature.

_"__Hang on, that's my letter to the parking inspector."_

To the denizens of the internet's resident art depository,

Well, it's been another two years since I wrote, and _nothing_ has changed, for better or worse. Most of you are a pleasant bunch, but some of you...

Anyway, I would like to start by exposing a grave injustice. When I search for Danny Phantom, I get 105,000 results. When I search for Twilight, I get a million. WHYYYYY

But I digress. You see, today I am not here to rage at dA. I am here to defend it.

_"__Timmy! Fetch me my Brodie Helmet! I must defend myself!"_

_"__You're already wearing it."_

_"__Oh, right."_

Much has been said about dA being a wretched hive of idiocy, fanboyism, blatant pornography and other such horrors – but it's not really worse than anything else on the internet.

Take Google. Safe, happy Google.

Let me show you a few autocorrect results I get when using Google.

First, let's tackle idiocy. Surely, people who use Google are rational, intelligent beings?

Well, here's what I get...

_Help I a__**te poop **_(How is that anybody's fault but your own?)

_I ate __**all your bees **_(_All_ my bees?!)

_Is the moon __**real**_(Don't trust the CIA misinformation, chaps!)

_What happens when __**you unfriend someone one facebook**_(They die, Jim.)

Getting some real masterminds here!

Let's try something else! Let's see if there are any strange fans on Google!

_Is Danny Ph__**antom**__**real**_(Yes. It is a documentary.)

_Dipper __**is cute**_(He is twelve. I reiterate, he is twelve.)

_Captain America is __**really Captain Puerto Rico**_ (What a twist!)

See what I mean?

But what about Tumblr? Surely _Tumblr_ can be relied on to be sane and rational in this mad-

_I can't finish this sentence, collapsing into fits of giggles._

...yeah, I'm not kidding anyone.

So why bring up this dreary tale? Simple – most people who use Google are rational, intelligent beings. Most people who use Tumblr don't care about lemons or slightly awkward political thinking. Most people who visit dA and FFN are normal.

There _is_ no frothing mass of scum and villainy on the internet (except Stormfront) and people who use websites are generally _ordinary people_. We're office workers and students and labourers who just want to escape reality for a while, and are able to connect to this grand connected community to do so.

Underneath, we are all the same.

It doesn't matter if you're a Brony or a Phan or a Faller or an otaku or any other fandom, nobody has a right to stereotype you based on preference. We can only be who we are, and if anybody wants to be intolerant about it, they can eat their words.

DeviantArt has, and always has had, it's problems. But if you enjoy it, whatever you like doing, go on and do it. It's your life and you are at the helm. Don't let anyone tell you you're wrong just because you like something they don't.

_I look over the writing and nod self-righteously._

_"__Are you moralising again?" asks Timmy, dryly._

_"__I _enjoy_ moralising," I snap._

_"__Whatever," mutters Timmy, "I'm leaving. Bye."_

_"__You're leaving me?!"_

_"__...dude, I'm only going home. I'll probably be back later in the week."_

_"__Oh, right. Sometimes I forget you don't live here..."_

So, here we are. End of the line. Tomorrow, Halloween Unspectacular ends.

I'd just like to remind you all that I could never have gotten this far without your support and your reviews. They help more than it is possible to describe, so I'd just like to thank you all before we take the final plunge into the finale.

Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a privilege writing with you these past five years.

_I tearfully salute the monitor_.

So, FFN and dA. Weird, frustrating, sometimes nauseating, occasionally insanely awesome. I love you both – may we never part.

Yours truly,

E350.

P.S. Seriously, MORE ROBOTS.

_I save the document and alt-tab to another window – a word document with the beginnings of the finale planned out._

_"__Alright," I say, "Time to finish this..."_

_I trail off as I look at the screen._

_"__Well," I mutter, "Ain't _that_ a thing?"_

* * *

AN: Seriously, though, I wouldn't be here without you guys. Hopefully the finale is worth the wait!

*not really


	31. 31 10 14: It Always Rains

I think this is the longest HU I've ever done. It took me all day. That feels fitting.

Review replies;

**OddAuthor:** Hmm, I'll have to check Google, see what I geAAAAUAUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGG... Thanks for reading!

**Guest:** Well, _quite_. Thanks for reviewing!

**Night-Waker:** I know, right? It's felt so fast! It's kinda melancholy. Thanks for the review!

**TweenisodeOrange:** Aw, you're flattering me, they're not that good. :) Thanks very much!

**Zim'sMostLoyalServant:** It'll be a shame to leave it behind, really. I am so, so glad you guys have like it. :) Thanks!

* * *

**31/10/14: It Always Rains**

_Everything is always the same._

_There's always a monster._

_There's always you._

_And it always rains._

The rain erupted the minute the boats hit shore. So too did the cacophony.

Hannigan dove to the ground as the air was filled with fire, his squad following his lead. He cursed loudly and called back to his men.

"Rifles! Cover fire!" he thundered.

The riflemen did not need telling twice, taking up positions behind rocks and other such cover and firing in the direction of the Arthurian Guards. Hannigan nodded, and shouted back to Dixon and the Fentons.

"You lot, on me!" he thundered, "We're getting up this cliff!"

"But...but they're shooting at..." began Jack.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Fenton!" bellowed Hannigan, "Just run!"

He leapt to his feet and made a break for the cliff-face, not bothering to check if he was being followed. He reached a trench built into the side of the cliff, jumping in on the surprised occupants and opening fire.

* * *

The _Swiftsure_ rocked under the weight of the _Goliath's_ devastating broadsides. Even with the _Indefatigable_ drawing fire and presenting itself as a more valuable target, the smaller frigate was starting to disintegrate, but it sailed onwards regardless.

Cochrane stood on the quarterdeck, grinning broadly as cannonballs and shrapnel whizzed by his head. His lieutenants surrounding him, barking orders – Athena was clutching the railing in terror.

"Isn't this the life, madame?!" exclaimed Cochrane.

"Shouldn't we be below?" demanded Athena.

"Madame, you can do no harm to yourself by staring the enemy in the face!" replied Cochrane.

A cannonball slammed into one of the lieutenants.

"The enemy can," shrugged Cochrane, "But why let them scare us, eh?"

"_One minute to impact!_" bellowed the sailing master.

"This is it, boys, onward to glory!" thundered Cochrane.

* * *

Down below, Goldington and four other sailors were standing next to long fuse connected to barrels of gunpowder. The ship was rocking badly in the surf and under fire, and Goldington was a deathly pale.

"_Thirty seconds!_" a voice bellowed from above.

"Light the fuse and get out of here!" thundered a sailor.

Another sailor grabbed a red-hot poker, lighting the end of the fuse before setting it on a crate.

"We're good, everybody run!" he shouted.

The sailors ran. Goldington made to follow, when he heard a fizzling sound under his boot.

He looked down, and found he'd stepped on the fuse.

"...oh, why _now?"_ he lamented.

"_Fifteen seconds!_"

Goldington looked over to the poker, and then to the barrels. Hand shaking, he picked up the poker and walked over to the powder.

"_Five seconds! Four! Three!_"

"...I'm sorry, North," whispered Goldington.

"_Two! One!_"

Goldington's poke prodded the powder.

* * *

The _Swiftsure_ was not enough to damage the _Goliath_, even at ramming speed.

The sudden, fiery explosion of her bow was.

ReGenesis was knocked to the ground by the concussive force of the blast, his officers showered with splinters and shrapnel. For several seconds, ReGenesis was dazed, disoriented by what had happened.

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

The _Indefatigable _swung to starboard, her carronade slamming into the weakened armour of the _Goliath_ one last time before sailing off for new targets. There was a series of cries as red-coated marines began to swing over from the doomed _Swiftsure_, their admiral at the head of the charge.

"They...they just blew up their own ship," stammered an officer, "To board ours!"

"They're bloody mad," another whispered.

ReGenesis scowled and climbed to his feet, dark power coating his hands. He jumped down from the quarterdeck, firing blast at Guinevere's marines – each shot disintegrating one. A lieutenant tried to rush him with his blade – ReGenesis grabbed the end, twisted it out of his hand and stabbed him with it.

"Get off my ship!" he thundered, "You stupid mortal sheep!"

Suddenly, he found himself lifted into the air by force of magic. Athena had boarded, and now had him suspended above the melee – two marines flanked her, holding rifles at him.

"Where is Jazz?!" bellowed Athena.

"Fenton?" snarled ReGenesis, "How should I know?!"

Athena glanced to a marine, who worked the bolt on his rifle.

"I will not ask again," she snapped.

"I don't have a clue," growled ReGenesis, "Galahad wanted her – it was his price for helping me. Why should I care?"

Athena scowled, and slammed him to the deck with force of magic.

"He's not in charge," she realised, "He only thinks he is."

"I'm sorry, ma'am?" quizzed a marine.

"ReGenesis isn't controlling Galahad," replied Athena, "Galahad's controlling ReGenesis. _He's_ the main threat."

She shook his head.

"It can't be, can it?" she muttered to herself, "The most virtuous of all the grail knights...there has to be someone _above_ him..."

"Less talking!" thundered Cochrane, running past brandishing a board, "More fighting!"

* * *

With a hole opened in Galahad's line, Guinevere's fleet sprang to action.

The _Sovereign of the Seas_ was first to run the gauntlet, leading her column of men-o'-war through the gap that was forming as Galahad's ships redeployed to support the _Goliath_. The confusion was immense, and it was a boon for Nelson's ships. Before long, other admirals were following him into the fray, bringing the full might of the fleet into bear.

They were followed by a series of large converted merchant ships, each filled to capacity with troops – mostly Avalonian, but assisted by the _Regiment du Dauphin_, which had been graciously loaned to Guinevere by Charlemagne. Their mission was to land and engage the Arthurian Guards immediately.

The invasion was now in full swing.

* * *

"Nearly ready, sir."

Sir Galahad, Director Fenton and Major Locker stood before a stone tablet in the middle of an ancient cavern, deep below sea level. In front of them, Agents Simon and Diane Pines and Vlad were putting candles into place around the stone. Two Arthurian Guardsmen were holding Jazz by the arms, who was trying and failing to wriggle free.

"What do we need?" asked Galahad.

"The journal states we need Arthurian blood – right there," replied Major Locker, "We'll also need a Knight of the Round Table – that's you, sir. We need fuel, which is being brought up. Also, we apparently need a servant to be unwillingly sacrificed. Shall I fetch a guardsman?"

"When the time comes," nodded Galahad.

"Why are you doing this?" snapped Jazz, "What's your angle, Galahad?"

"Simple," replied Galahad, "I'm here to break the circle. Are you aware of it, Jasmine?"

He leant in close to her.

"It always rains," he said, simply, "It _always_ rains. We are trapped in a never-ending circle of events. I am here to set us free."

"What circle?!" demanded Jazz.

Galahad looked up. Jazz followed his gaze.

A mural of artworks were emblazoned on the roof – a mural with four distinct sections.

The first displayed a dark figure, pulsating with energy, advancing on the cowering form of what looked like a little green alien.

_"__It's just me and you, Zim."_

_"__Well, this is bad...err...parley?"_

The second displayed three figures facing each other down inside a bell tower – perhaps Big Ben?

_"__Let's finish this."_

_"__For science."_

The third was a battlefield – a king faced down another, the chaos of war strewn around them.

_"__Britain wasn't in peril...until _I_ returned. Perhaps King Arthur isn't needed anymore..."_

The final image showed what was clearly the Governor, pistol pointed at his temple.

_"__Everything is always the same. I've seen it – the patterns, always unique, always the same..."_

"Do you see?" asked Galahad, "Always the same. Always the same."

"And how do you intend to stop this?" demanded Jazz.

There was a flash as Vlad lit the last candle. He and the Pines jumped back as a massive holographic oak tree formed above the tablet.

"This is the multiverse," said Galahad, "And we are going to collapse it into a single world."

* * *

Deep in the caverns below World's End, Danny was leading the group along, his hand lit up as a torch, Guinevere and Lancelot just behind him. The commandoes brought up the rear. It was cold and damp.

"So," mused Sandy, "Are we reachin' the point where nothing we do can be classified as 'out of the ordinary?'"

"We passed that threshold a very long time ago," shrugged Stan.

Before long, they saw a dim light at the end of the tunnel. The commandoes readied their weapons.

"Whatever we find," whispered Lancelot, "We keep our cool. Understood?"

The group nodded.

They reached the end of the tunnel, and Danny's jaw dropped.

They were inside a massive underground mining complex, filled with chain-gangs shifting massive quantities of strange, blue minerals. The overseers, clad in long coats and top hats and looking rather like Victorian gaffers, were bellowing orders and brandishing whips and clubs.

"Hannigan was right," whispered Lancelot, shocked, "They _are_ using chattel slavery."

"Wait a minute," gasped Timmy, "Some of the workers...I-I can see AJ down there! And Chester, and Vicky and..._they've gone after our friends!_'

He was right. They could see Chester and AJ breaking rocks not far away. Several chain gangs were hauling heavy wagons up steep inclines; one was made up of Vicky, Jimmy, Carl, Sheen, Tucker and Patrick. Dozens more – people they _knew_ – worked on digging or pulling wagons, all of them beaten and ragged.

"How _dare _they?" snarled Dani.

"Okay, this just got real," spat Tammy.

"_Why aren't you working?!_"

An overseer marched up to a worker that had collapsed from exhaustion. Danny looked over to the worker – and found, to his shock, that it was Sam.

"Don't you dare," he whispered.

"Danny, don't do it," hissed Guinevere.

"Get to yer feet, wench!" spat the overseer, "We need these minerals ready _today_. We can't afford bleeding _laziness_."

"...I can't...I can't do it," muttered Sam, barely lucid.

"Can't do it?" sneered the overseer, "Then p'raps you need an incentive."

He raised the whip. Sam winced and braced herself.

A blast of green erupted from the mouth of the cavern, slamming into the overseers face. He was knocked off his feet, his head slamming into a rock on the way down. He was knocked unconscious.

All eyes fell on the group. Lancelot pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Intruders!" somebody shouted, "Attack them!"

"Go loud!" barked Guinevere.

The commandoes stood up, opening fire on the nearest overseers as the group leapt into action. Danny and Timmy ran over to Sam, the former blasting her chains with an ectoblast.

"Sam!" he exclaimed, "Are you okay?!"

"Uh...yeah, I just need a bit," muttered Sam, "When'd they get you?"

"They didn't," replied Danny, "I came on my own."

He turned to Timmy.

"I have to help her," he snapped, "Find Jazz. I'll be right behind you."

"Got it, Fenton," nodded Timmy, "Good luck."

There was a poof, and Cosmo and Wanda turned into the Starflinger.

"Geez, we haven't said much lately, haven't we?" mused Cosmo.

"Might have had something to do with the total strangers Timmy's been hanging around with," said Wanda, dryly.

"Oh, right."

"Oi, you!" an overseer thundered, running over with a club, "You kids need to learn yer bloody pla-what the?!"

Stan had grabbed the club. He used it to flip the overseer over his shoulder, before taking it and swinging it to hit two other attacking overseers.

"Don't mess with the Grunk, you jerks," he snarled.

Timmy sprinted over to the downed and disoriented overseer, pointing the barrel of the Starflinger at his face.

"Where's Jazz?" he demanded.

"South tunnel, down that way!" replied the overseer, "Just keep that mad old bugger away from me!"

"It's this way!" shouted Timmy, pointing in the direction the overseer had given him, "Come on!"

He ran into the tunnel, Spongebob, Sandy and Dani right behind him. Guinevere, currently holding an overseer in a headlock, watched them go.

"Dipper, with me!" she shouted, "Lancelot, deal with these idiots!"

"Yes ma'am!" Lancelot shouted back, his sword drawn as he led some commandoes into a large gathering of overseers, "Good luck!"

Guinevere threw the overseer to the ground and ran after Timmy. Dipper, Mabel and Wendy followed.

* * *

Galahad's fleet was in ruins, but the situation was far worse on land. Hannigan had had some success forcing the trenches, but they were now suppressed under the superior position of the Arthurian Guards on the cliff, and casualties were massing.

"How many of us are left?!" bellowed Hannigan.

"We're down to two dozen, sir!" Rifleman Perkins shouted back.

"Reckon this might be it, Tom?" muttered Dixon.

"For us?" scoffed Hannigan, "We've been through worse, Dix. Keep up the fire, lads!"

There was a bang, and next to him, a Coldstreamer fell.

Maddie inched over to Hannigan, having picked up an Arthurian Guardsman's leather helmet for whatever cover it provided.

"Hannigan!" she shouted, "Just in case we don't make it – why is Danny connected to Avalon?!"

"I'm under orders not to say," replied Hannigan.

"Oh, come off it Colour!" shouted Dixon, "She has a right to know!"

"Could all be dead soon," agreed Hagman.

Hannigan looked up, cursed to himself, and turned to Maddie.

"Alright, here it is," he snapped, "Danny helped save Avalon at the Second Battle of Camlann. He's a friend of the Queen and King Arthur knighted him just before Camlann. He's been involved with us for nearly two years."

"And how did he end up involved?" demanded Maddie, "Why him?!"

"He saved Jones from a mine," continued Hannigan, "He's one of the best fighters we know. He's..."

Maddie grabbed him by the collar.

"Don't dodge the question!" she bellowed, "_Why is Danny important?!_"

"_Because he's f**king half ghost!_" exclaimed Hannigan.

Maddie dropped Hannigan, her eyes wide. Jack looked up from his cover, his face paling.

"I'm sorry," replied Hannigan, "Lancelot said it wasn't our prerogative to tell you. But since we're not getting out of this..."

"_Rockets!_"

Hannigan ducked as a volley of Congreve Rockets slammed into the cliffs above, showering them with rocks and smoke. For a few minutes, the colour sergeant could see nothing in the debris cloud.

Then there was a flash of white and a cry of '_Vive Charlemagne!_'

A column of white-coated men marched out of the smoke, racing straight for the cliff. The defenders, still in shock from the volley, did nothing as they began to climb.

"You saw them, lads!" shouted Hannigan, "Are we going to be shown up by the French, or are we going to go with them?"

There was a cheer as the remains of the _forlorn_ _hope_ joined their comrades, climbing up the cliff towards their objective. Maddie and Jack climbed with them, but they said not a word.

* * *

Athena ran to the side of the _Goliath_ – the ship having lowered her colours and surrendered – looking over to World's End and trying to signal somebody over.

"Problem, madame?" asked Cochrane, walking over, "If you're worried about the vessel's stability, don't – I'm thirty percent sure she's still seaworthy!"

"I need to get to World's End," replied Athena, "ReGenesis was a ruse. I think Guinevere's in mortal danger."

"Indeed?" mused Cochrane, "I'll signal Pellew, perhaps he can dispatch that bright young officer of his...what was his name? Ah yes, Lieutenant Horn-"

"Why take a boat, madame?"

Jones landed on the deck next to them, leaning down.

"I can get you there that much quicker, you know," he nodded.

Athena smiled and climbed onto Jones' back. The dragon kicked off and soared towards land.

"I don't know about that!" shouted Cochrane, "You just can't get the feel of the sea from a dragon!"

He sighed, and looked down.

"Hmm...somebody needs to swab up those brains."

* * *

"We're ready," nodded Locker, looking over the now mineral-covered tablet and crossing his arms.

Galahad nodded and turned to the Pines.

"You two," he ordered, "Go and find Grim. He's supposed to be here."

The Pines nodded and ran out of the chamber. Galahad crossed his arms and looked over to Locker.

"Who wants to bet he's halfway to Port Stanley by now?" mused Vlad.

"If he is, it's a problem," muttered Director Fenton, "Given as he was the intended sacrifice."

"Maybe that's a good thing," spat Jazz, "He's gone, so you can't carry out this plan, which, I might add, is _completely insane_."

"We'll improvise," sneered Locker.

_Bang._

Locker looked down at his chest, which was now starting to bleed. Galahad smirked as he lowered his pistol.

"That's why I like you, Major Locker," nodded Galahad, "You think outside the box."

At that point, Dan walked into the room. He was carrying a small box full of vials.

"Alright, I got it," he said, "You're welcome, by the..."

He watched as Locker collapsed to the ground, dead.

"...hmm," muttered Dan, "That's interesting."

As Locker's blood washed onto the floor, the holographic tree began to ripple. A wind began to pick up.

"And here we go," sneered Galahad.

* * *

Far out to sea, Ovard Grim sat in his yacht, a glass of red wine in his hand. Out the window, he could see the sky starting to turn red.

"Well, I think it is time to Lord Stanley this whole situation," he said, "Bob, make sail for the Falklands. I have a lot of information from this whole escapade that will be of great interest to the right people."

He chuckled to himself.

"Never rely on a middleman, Sir Galahad."

* * *

The wind picked up dramatically as Timmy and his group pressed on down the tunnel. He covered his face but kept going.

"Just a little further, guys!" he exclaimed.

"This wind feels familiar," mused Dipper, "I'm sure I felt something like this in the Shack..."

"Think of it later, bro!" exclaimed Mabel, "Right now we've got a damsel to save!"

Dani chuckled.

"I'm totally gonna tell her that you called her a da..."

She trailed off.

The group had emerged into a large, ancient cavern – right in the middle of Galahad's ritual, to be exact. Galahad had just drawn some of Jazz's blood into a vial.

"Guys!" exclaimed Jazz.

All eyes fell on Timmy's group.

"...maybe I shouldn't have shouted," said Jazz, sheepishly.

"Yeah, _maybe_," grunted Timmy.

Galahad stepped forward, a smug grin on his face.

"Ah, welcome!" he exclaimed, "You're just in time to see us collapse the multiverse into a single world."

Guinevere did a double-take.

"_What?!_" she exclaimed, "_That's _what this was all about?!"

"Indeed," nodded Galahad, "We are going to cheat the rules of this universe by cancelling them out with the rules of others. Can you think of a better way, witch?"

"Good god, Galahad!" shouted Guinevere, "That's _insane!_ You can't _collapse the multiverse!_ You'll murder...you'll murder an infinite amount of people. And _why? Why do you want this?!_"

"Because it always rains," replied Galahad.

"The Governor's circle," whispered Guinevere.

"Now you're getting it," nodded Galahad, "If we succeed at this, we shall be freed from fate. We will be the masters of our own destiny!"

"And what if it fails?" demanded Sandy, "What if y'all end up wrecking the entirety of reality?"

"That is the risk we take," replied Galahad.

"Don't do it, Galahad," snapped Guinevere, "You won't be able control what will happen next."

"In due respect, _your majesty_," sneered Galahad, "I've been unable to control what will happen next for a _very long time_."

He smashed his vial on the tablet.

There was a massive flash of red light, and everyone in the cavern was thrown to the ground.

* * *

Jones smashed through a stone wall into the fort. Athena leapt off his back, just as the _Regiment du Dauphin _and the _forlorn hope_ broke into the building. Hannigan, Dixon, Jack and Maddie emerged behind her.

"Hannigan!" shouted Athena, "We have to find Jazz. Something terrible is about to happen!"

"I'll hold the rear, lads!" shouted Jones, "I'll find the Governor and James, give them the what for. Good luck!"

"You heard the woman, lads, get after her!" barked Hannigan.

Athena led the _forlorn hope_ down a flight of stairs. She didn't see the rain turn blood red.

* * *

The holographic oak tree had exploded into a vortex of red, almost like a mini star. The wind roared inwards, sucking everything that wasn't secured inside.

"What have you done?!" thundered Dan.

"Exactly as desired, Daniel!" laughed Galahad, "Working as intended! The multiverse is collapsing in on itself!"

There was the sound of thunder, and bolts of lightning erupted from the vortex, like bolts from a Tesla Coil.

"How do we stop it?!" demanded Jazz, "How do we..."

"You cannot stabilise it, Fenton!" thundered Galahad, "Only a pure descendant of Arthur could stop that – and they'd _die _in the process!"

"This isn't working!" exclaimed Director Fenton as the ground began to shake, "You'll kill us all, Galahad!"

"Ye of little faith, Director!" shouted Galahad, laughing wildly, "I've planned for this for years! I know exactly what will..."

A bolt of lightning struck Director Fenton, turning her to dust in an instant. Galahad ducked as another arced over his head, striking an Arthurian Guard behind him. Around them, the walls began to crack.

"That wasn't supposed to happen!" exclaimed Galahad.

"I'm not dying for this!" snapped Vlad, "Phantom, come on!"

He turned intangible and flew out of the chamber. Dan tried to follow – a bolt hit him while intangible and disintegrated him.

"No! It's not supposed to destroy our world, dammit!" bellowed Galahad as his men fled the chamber while they still could, "_It's supposed to destroy the others!_"

"Jazz!"

Athena ran into the chamber, the Fentons and Hannigan's men behind her. A bolt struck a Coldstream Guardsman – the others jumped as he dissolved.

"What do we do, what do we do?!" cried Spongebob, clutching his head.

"We send a descendant of King Arthur into the vortex!" replied Athena, "They'll stabilise the multiverse, prevent the apocalypse..."

She turned to Jazz.

"I'm sorry," she cried, "I'm...sorry..."

Jazz thought back to the message she'd received in London.

_J FENTON_

_YOU ARE BEING GROOMED. ESCAPE ATHENA ASAP._

_ANON_

"You always knew this would happen, didn't you?" she whispered.

"I told you!" thundered Tammy, "Sacrificing Jazz doesn't work! If she goes in, the dark tide comes out! We all die!"

"And _what _is the _dark tide?_" thundered Athena, "How can it be worse than multiversal destruction?!"

"Monsters," replied Tammy, "Unimaginable horrors and abominations, systematically wiping out the human race. I can't let you unleash that. I can't let them take my parents again...I can't let them take Tommy again..."

"And how does that even work!" demanded Athena, "She's a normal human!"

"She's my descendant," said Guinevere, turning to Athena, "And I am a changeling. I am not born of humans. My blood likely attracted them."

"_Then what do we do?!_" thundered Athena, "_Let the world end?! It's not like we can find another descendant..._"

"Actually," said Dipper, "I think we can."

_"__I assume it is enchanted in some way. Perhaps only family can read it..."_

_Director Fenton pulls out a knife._

_"__I'm sorry Jackson...but I need Pendragon blood."_

"Danny never touched Journal #4," explained Dipper, "He was tied up the whole time. There's only two people who could have decoded it..."

_...Dipper runs through the darkness – he jumps, tackling the ground. He grabs the book..._

_...Wendy pulls Dipper to his feet. She picks up the journal, but gets no time to check it before Danny asks to be untied..._

"But you're not even related!" thundered Galahad, "You didn't even know these people before now!"

"King Arthur had a son, Galahad," continued Dipper, "A son with Morgan le Fay. His name was Mordred."

He turned to Mabel.

"Either Mabel and I are Mordred's descendants," he finished, "Or Wendy is. Which means we can close the vortex."

"But you don't know which!" bellowed Galahad, "You only have a fifty-fifty chance!"

"I'll take those odds," declared Dipper.

"Dipper, what're you..."

Dipper ran for the vortex.

Galahad reached out for the boy – a bolt struck him, and that was that.

Mabel made a move to try and run after Dipper. Colour Sergeant Hannigan reached forward, grabbing her by the collar and holding her back.

Dipper jumped, launching himself into the vortex. Wendy's hand reached out, grabbed him by the collar, but the boy was already caught in the pull. She simply got pulled along after him.

In a last attempt to save the boy, Sandy reached out, grabbing Wendy's leg. She too was simply pulled along.

_There's always a monster._

_There's always _you_._

The three fell into the vortex. There was a flash of red light...

_And it always rains_.

* * *

"Well. Ain't that a thing."

Sandy opened her eyes.

She was sprawled on a carpet next to a desk. A young man on a computer, bespectacled and dressed in a white shirt and red tie, looked down at her.

"What happened?" she muttered, "Where am I?"

"In the place where it doesn't always rain," the man..._I_ replied.

Sandy clambered to her feet, scratching her head. Behind her, she noticed Dipper and Wendy doing the same thing.

"What do you mean?" asked Sandy, "Is this...is this the centre of the multiverse or something?"

"It's the centre of _this_ part of the multiverse," I replied, "I call it the Unspectacular Branch. I'm it's caretaker."

I scratched my head.

"Kinda blundered into that role, actually," I shrugged, "I'm in no way qualified for the job, let me tell you."

"Wait," mused Dipper, "So you're...god?"

"God? My god, no!" I exclaimed, "I'm just a random nerd, mate. You might call me a chronicler."

I got up from my chair.

"But I think I am qualified to tell you that I am incredibly proud of you guys," I said.

"...proud?" asked Wendy, "What for, man? We just jumped into a vortex..."

"Yes, you jumped into the vortex of certain death to save reality," I replied, "Nothing to be proud of there, eh?"

I sat down on the side of my desk.

"But really," I continued, "You've heard the phrase, right? 'It always rains?' Galahad was focusing on that, but his focus was off."

I pointed at Sandy.

"It's always you," I explained, "You're the key."

"...me?" whispered Sandy.

"You," I nodded, "You were one of the last to survive against ReGenesis – although you don't remember that. You were the one who won the Battle of the Fiddley Things and ascended physical existence – although you don't remember that, either. You used the Fiddley Thing extensively without going mad with power, and you were present at Camlann and El Dorado. You've been right in the middle of everything, Sandy."

I looked over to Dipper and Wendy.

"Hat's off to you lot, too," I added, "You were right, Dipper – one of you _is_ Mordred's descendant."

I chuckled.

"I'm not going to tell you _which_, though," I shrugged, "Let you dwell on it. It'd be funny."

"So what now?" asked Sandy, "Can we...can we go back?"

"You have a choice," I replied, my face turning grim.

Two portals opened behind me.

"You've saved the multiverse, but your world is still unstable," I explained, "It _will_ collapse. One more trip through that vortex will save it...but at a cost."

"What kind of cost?" asked Wendy, nervously.

"You die," I replied.

I pointed to the other portal.

"That portal sends you to a mirror of your world," I added, "One where none of this ever happened – no Fiddley Thing, no Camlann, no Avalon. There was minor problem with some guy who called himself the Warlord, but that's passed. If you never thought about it, it would be just like...changing history and making things right."

I sat back in my chair.

"It's up to you," I said, "I refuse to intervene."

Sandy looked at the portals. Then she looked back to Dipper and Wendy.

"I'm willing," she said, "But if you guys..."

"I'll come," said Dipper, smiling.

"That's _our_ world, Sandy," added Wendy, "Could we really forget it."

Sandy nodded.

"Then you have our answer."

I nodded, and stood up again. The second portal vanished.

"Well then, this is goodbye," I said, "Thank you for this. Thank you for _everything_."

Sandy nodded, her eyes slightly wet. She extended a hand.

"I know we've only known each other for about a day, but...together?" she asked.

"Together," nodded Dipper, linking hands with her. Wendy took his hand.

They walked towards the portal. They paused for a moment in front of it – and then stepped in, disappearing into the vortex.

They never looked back.

I sighed, and sat back at my computer. I looked down at my keyboard for some time.

"No," I decided, "It doesn't end like this."

I began to type.

* * *

"We have to get out of here! Spongebob, come on!"

Timmy and Dani were physically dragging Spongebob away from the vortex. The riflemen were doing the same with Mabel, who was responding with biting.

"It won't work," whispered Tammy, "They're gonna come through."

She walked up to Timmy and Dani, leaning down and hugging them.

"Ah...Tammy?" quizzed Timmy, "What're you doing?"

"I just...I never got to say goodbye," whispered Tammy, "And..."

"It's dying down!" exclaimed Hannigan.

The group looked up.

The vortex was disappearing, the ground ceasing to shake as it turned blue and began to fade.

"My god," whispered Dixon, "What's it doing?"

"As long as it's not getting bigger, I'm just fine," muttered Cooper.

"No!" exclaimed Spongebob, "It can't disappear! Sandy's still in there! She can't..."

"Get back!"

There was a concussive blast, and the portal seemed to poof out of existence.

For a few seconds, the room was filled with smoke. As it faded, they saw Sandy, Dipper and Wendy floating above, surrounded by a blue aura. They seemed to be unconscious.

Then the aura faded, and they dropped.

Spongebob and Mabel ran over, dropping to the ground next to their loved ones. Spongebob leaned down over Sandy, his eyes watering.

"Sandy? Are you okay? I was so worried, I thought I'd lost you forever, and...and why aren't you waking up?" he stammered.

Sandy wasn't responding. Spongebob couldn't hear her breathing.

"No, no it's doesn't end like this," he urged, "It can't...we had so much left to do, so much left to _say_...please, not like this..._please_..."

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, finding Mabel looking into his eyes. Her's were watering, and her lips wobbled.

"I-I'm sorry," she croaked, "Bu-but I think they're..."

She broke, collapsing into her brother's chest and sobbing. Spongebob turned back to Sandy, his voice failing him as he just looked at her body.

There was another hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Spongebob, we can't stay here," whispered Timmy, "We have to find the others, tell them the world didn't end."

"It _feels_ like it ended," said Spongebob, his voice cracking.

"I know, buddy, I know," nodded Timmy.

"I just...I never got to tell her," whispered Spongebob, "I-I never even really _knew_ until now, but...but I loved her, Timmy."

He looked back down at Sandy, gently picking up her limp form and hugging it.

"...Spongebob?"

The voice was quiet and rather weak, but it was like a foghorn to Spongebob. He jumped and set Sandy down, realising she was opening her eyes.

Next to him, he heard another voice.

"...Mabel? Is that you?"

"Dipper!"

Sandy slowly sat up, rubbing her head as she looked around. Dipper and Wendy were also stirring, the latter looking over to Spongebob and Mabel.

"What, nobody mourning me?" she asked jokingly, "Feeling unwanted here, guys..."

"Sandy!" exclaimed Spongebob, pulling Sandy back in a hug, "I thought you were gone! I thought I'd never...oh my gosh, please tell me you didn't hear that last bit, that'd be so embarrassing..."

"Sorry," shrugged Sandy, grinning, "I'm afraid I did. But don't worry about it."

"It's not gonna be awkward or anything?"

"How can it be awkward if I feel the same way?" said Sandy.

She chuckled and kissed Spongebob on the forehead.

"Well, isn't that just adorable," mused Guinevere, smiling.

"If you want diabetes, maybe," muttered Dixon.

"Dixon," grunted Hannigan.

* * *

"You brought the Spectre Speeder?! But...how did you get it?!" exclaimed Jack.

"I knew somebody," replied Jones.

"Sorry I couldn't get here earlier," said Valerie, climbing out of the speeder, "But I had to deal with some stuff in Amity. You know how it is – ghosts attack the minute Phantom's back is turned..."

"I guess you wanna talk about that, huh?" sighed Danny.

The group had gathered on the ruined roof of the fort. The sky had cleared, and they were bathed in the golden light of early sunset. Guinevere and Lancelot were talking to Nelson and Cochrane, who were giving a very self-congratulatory report on the naval battle. Another high-ranking officer – Wellington, wasn't it? – was standing to the side, seeming unimpressed at the naval officers and their vanity.

"Danny," said Maddie, "We don't have to talk about anything. We're proud of you, and we love you matter what."

"We'd love you if you were a zombie, Danny boy!" exclaimed Jack, "Although we probably couldn't keep you supplied in brains."

"We just want you to know," added Maddie, "You ever need to tell us something, just tell us. We'd _never_, _ever_ hate you."

Danny smiled and nodded, turning and walking over to Sam and Tucker. They were a bit worse for wear, but they'd recover with time.

"Dude, you should've waited," exclaimed Tucker, "We were totally ready to blow this joint! I had an escape plan! It would have been awesome!"

"Tucker, you were going to dig a tunnel – in the bedrock," muttered Sam, "It wouldn't have ended well."

"Guys, I am so sorry," sighed Danny, "I should have stopped them, I should have..."

"Don't worry about it," replied Sam, smiling, "You had bigger things to worry about. We could wait."

"One thing that's bugging me, though," mused Tucker, "What happened to James and the Governor?"

"Funny you should mention that."

Hannigan smirked as he walked by, the commandoes following him. They were carrying the two aforementioned individuals, locked in magic-proof cages. Both were very singed.

"Just for future reference," stated Hannigan, "Don't mess with a dragon."

Danny grinned.

Not far away, Timmy and Dani were standing next to the wall, lazily playing tic-tac-toe with a piece of chalk. They looked up as Tammy approached.

"Hey Tammy," nodded Dani, "You heading back."

"Yep," nodded Tammy, pulling a small remote from her pocket, "Got a whole new world to explore. Hopefully, this one's less destroyed."

"Good luck, Tammy," nodded Timmy, "And just a heads-up – mess with time again and I'm grounding you."

"Got it," nodded Tammy, pressing a red button.

Then she looked up, confused.

"Wait, _what?_"

There was a flash of light and she vanished.

"What was that?" asked Dani.

"What, she looks like me," chuckled Timmy, "I made a guess."

He crossed his arms.

"I so hope her mom is Trixie," he declared.

"Somehow I doubt it," shrugged Dani.

Jazz sat on a wall, sighing as she looked through the photographs on her phone. Athena walked up, sitting next to her.

"So Jensen asked if I'm free next weekend," said Athena, "So I guess that's a thing."

Jazz didn't reply.

"I suppose we're done, then," sighed Athena.

"I'm sorry," sighed Jazz, "I can understand why you did it, but...we can't go back to before."

"I think it's for the best, young Jazz," nodded Athena, sadly.

She got up.

"Just, wherever you after this," she said, "Remember."

"Remember what?" asked Jazz.

"There is _always_ some magic in your life," replied Athena, "Good night and sweet dreams."

With that, she walked out of Jazz's life.

The Mystery Shack crew were standing next to Jones, who was going to give them a lift home. Stan was looking up at his back – his face was paling.

"Maybe I'd prefer the magic," he mused, "Sure, it'll make me chuck my guts out, but..."

"Ah, come on Mr. Pines!" exclaimed Soos, "It'll be fun!"

"Stan, we've just fought a literal evil army," reminded Wendy, "Dipper and I visited another dimension and we almost died. You can handle a dragon."

"Uh...fine, let's just leave," muttered Stan.

"Wait up!"

Spongebob and Sandy ran up, now joined by Patrick.

"Before you go," said Spongebob, "We just wanted to say thanks...and give you this."

He handed Dipper a small, phone-like device.

"It's called a Recaller," said Spongebob, "Jimmy made it. Now we can keep in touch."

"Thanks, Spongebob," nodded Dipper.

"Awesome!" exclaimed Mabel, "I can get you to send messages to Mermando! All sea creatures know each other, right? Aw, this is gonna be perfect..."

Spongebob and Sandy glanced at each other. Patrick scratched his chin.

"I think he's on a forum I use," he mused, "I'll check."

"Patrick, you're on a forum?" exclaimed Spongebob.

"Patrick, you have internet?" exclaimed Sandy.

"Patrick, you can _read?_" exclaimed Jimmy, walking up.

"Oh hey Jim! Glad to see you on your feet," nodded Spongebob.

"I thought I'd better appear before everyone leaves," shrugged Jimmy.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," said Dipper.

"It's 'see you later'," replied Sandy.

Dipper nodded and climbed onto Jones' back (the dragon was already moaning about the weight.) With a rush of wind, Jones took off, soaring into the distance.

"So," said Spongebob, "Everything is different now."

"Yeah, but I reckon it's better," shrugged Sandy.

Jack jumped into the Spectre Speeder and sounded the horn.

"Who wants a lift home?!" he exclaimed.

Maddie, Danny, Jazz and Dani immediately jumped in, followed by Valerie, Sam and Tucker. Spongebob and Timmy shrugged, holding up their recallers.

"We'll get them home, Fenton, don't worry," shrugged Lancelot.

"We'll meet again," grinned Guinevere.

Jack nodded and shut the doors of the Speeder.

"Well, homeward bound," he declared, "Let's see what's in the disc tray!"

"...please, _please_ don't be blanchin'," muttered Sam.

Jack turned on the engine and a song filled the air.

"Aw, yeah, I love this one!" exclaimed Jack, punching the air.

"Please kill me," muttered Danny.

Jack put his foot down, and the Speeder soared into the evening air and into the horizon, the radio blaring into the distance.

_Don't need money, don't need fame,_

_Don't need a credit card to ride this train,_

_It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes,_

_But it might just save your life..._

_...that's the power of love._

* * *

Grim sat on the deck of his yacht, whistling to himself as he read the paper. The sea was calm.

"Oh what?" he muttered to nobody in particular, "You wanted me to get my comeuppance? No, not today. There are things left, things we may come back to one day. After all, you might notice that the Pines never turned up again. And let's face it..."

He looked up from his paper.

"...I'm too good a villain to waste."

* * *

I pressed save and looked up from the screen, smiling to myself as I turned to the camera.

"Well, that's it," I said, "We've come to an end."

I shrugged.

"There are things I wish I'd covered more of, admittedly," I lamented, "The Civil War didn't play much of a role – Gawain never showed up at all – and I probably could have given Jimmy a bigger role, but...I think it's alright."

I got to my feet.

"There is no way on Earth I can thank you enough for this support," I thanked, "More than anyone else, you guys have made this worthwhile. Writing Halloween Unspectacular has been a wonderful experience, and I think I've improved as a writer because of it. But all good things must come to an end, and hopefully, this ending isn't going to be a bad one."

"So now we must end this story," I finished, "So long, thanks for all the fish, and may you be ever prosperous in whatever you do. Happy Halloween, and here's a terrible parody of Billy Joel. Farewell!"

ALL: _We didn't start October,  
It's some science glee,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

ALL: _We didn't start October,  
It's some science glee,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

**The End**

* * *

FINAL STATISTICS

31 Chapters.

167 Pages.

1,520 Hits.

6 Faves.

5 Alerts.

51,942 Words.

252,307 Characters (without spaces).

Approx. 100 Hours of Work.

One Exhausted Author - finally ready to move on.

* * *

"Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?"

Dr. Insano was still in the lockup. It was long after midnight, and everybody had gone home.

"I'm pretty sure I got cleared back there? Hello?"

He sighed and sat down.

"Remember when I was a main character?" he sighed.


End file.
